HELL'S 
PLAYGROUND 


IDA  VERA  SIMONTON 


UBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 


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7 


X  X 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 


BY 


IDA  VERA  SIMONTON 


NEW  YORK 

MOFFAT,  YARD  AND  COMPANY 
1912 


Copyright,  1912,  by 
MOFFAT,  YARD  AND  COMPANY 

NEW    YORK 


All  rights  reserved 


To  the  Memory  of  a  Perfect  Mother, 
this,  my  first  book  is  dedicated— 
would  it  were  more  worthy! 

I.  V.  S. 


New  York,  July,   1913 


IN  EXPLANATION 

HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  is  written  not  for  the  idly 
curious,  the  thrill-hunters,  the  gourmets  of  sensationalism, 
but  for  the  thoughtful,  the  students  of  history  and  psychol 
ogy,  the  dissectors  of  life,  the  truth-seekers. 

The  story  has  to  do  with  primal  conditions:  savages  and 
savagery.  It  lacks  the  niceties  and  embroideries  and  per 
fumes  of  civilization;  it  is  crude  and  shocking,  essentially 
so.  It  is  a  record  of  the  debauching  life  of  the  African 
tropics;  the  methods  of  government;  the  duties  and  oppor 
tunities  of  the  white  trader;  the  nature  of  the  negro  sav 
ages;  the  almost  hopeless  problems  of  colonization  and 
Christianization ;  and  the  demoralization  which  follows  the 
unnatural  imposition  of  the  rule  of  one  race  over  another. 

For  centuries  the  West  Coast  of  Africa  has  been  the 
dumping  ground  for  Europe's  undesirables  and  so  un 
healthy  is  the  climate  that  life  is  one  continuous  battle  for 
existence.  The  best  class  of  white  men  are  not  attracted 
to  it.  The  average  white  trader  and  government  official, 
freed  from  all  restraint,  deprived  of  the  society  of  white 
women  and  the  commonest  things  to  which  civilization  has 
accustomed  them,  breathing  the  atmosphere  of  sameness, 
stagnation  and  sensuality,  early  shed  the  veneer  of  civiliza 
tion.  They  revel  in  tyranny,  licentiousness  and  brutality; 
they  are  a  law  unto  themselves :  a  law  of  menace  and  destruc 
tion;  they  out-savage  the  very  savage. 

To  some  readers  the  author's  treatment  of  missions  and 


missionaries  may  seem  harsh,  but  she  has  only  penned  con 
ditions  as  she  found  them.  She  lived  among  missionaries 
of  all  denominations,  including  the  Mohammedans  and  the 
Copts.  No  one  knows  better  than  she  how  noble  and  heroic 
are  these  laborers  in  savage  Africa's  unproductive  vineyard. 
They  have  preached  and  prayed,  taught  and  encouraged 
under  the  most  unhealthy  and  depressing  and  discouraging 
conditions;  they  have  pressed  on  and  ever  on  where  even 
greed  for  wealth  and  territory  has  turned  back  discouraged ; 
and  many  of  them  have  laid  down  their  very  lives  for  their 
savage  charges  —  for  the  death  toll  has  been,  is,  and  ever 
will  be,  a  heavy  one.  The  author  also  knows  that  the  little 
transient  good  effected  by  the  white  missionaries  in  no  way 
compensates  for  their  sufferings,  deprivations  and  deaths ! 
Such  noble  men  and  women  are  needed  nearer  home,  where 
the  bulb  of  Christianity  is  indigenous  and  needs  only  care 
and  attention  to  cause  it  to  flower  bountifully. 

A  Polar  bear  has  as  much  need  of  a  sealskin  sack  to 
keep  him  warm  as  has  an  African  savage  of  the  raiment 
made  for  him  by  well-meaning,  God-serving  and  God 
fearing  white  women.  Neither  does  the  savage  need  houses 
to  shelter  him  nor  cultivated  products  to  nourish  him. 
Lavish  nature  and  torrid  heat  have  made  him  an  improvi 
dent  animal,  sensual  and  lazy.  He  is  what  he  is  from  the 
very  beginning  of  time.  His  native  superstitions,  beliefs, 
abominable  practices  and  nudity  are  as  much  a  part  of  him 
as  are  his  peculiar  odor,  his  black  skin  and  his  kinky  hair. 
They  are  there  to  stay,  and  the  negro  savage  is  best  let 
alone.  In  the  bush  the  realities  are  respected;  at  the 
mission  a  farce  is  innocently  played:  a  farce  so  far  as  any 
lasting  benefit  to  the  savage  accrues,  but  a  tragedy  where 
the  health  and  lives  of  their  white  teachers  are  concerned. 

The  English,  the  greatest  colonizers  in  the  world,  have 
demonstrated  in  their  African  possessions  that  to  respect 


IN  EXPLANATION 

native  superstitions  and  customs  is  the  only  way  to  effect 
ively  control  the  natives  and  secure  from  them  the  bound 
less  wealth  of  their  great  country.  The  so-called  civilized, 
Christianized  savage  is  as  subtle  as  a  Brahmin  and  as 
much  to  be  feared.  The  attempt  to  live  on  brotherly  terms 
with  the  negro  is  demoralizing  to  the  negro.  Highly  imi 
tative,  he  takes  on  all  the  vices  of  the  white  man  and  none 
of  his  virtues.  He  returns  to  his  bush  town  and  he  dis 
seminates  the  bad,  never  the  good.  There  are  some  lovable 
traits  in  the  true  bush  negro,  but  none  at  all  in  the  so-called 
civilized  creature. 

Unhealthy  and  demoralizing  as  the  West  Coast  of  Africa 
is,  from  the  time  of  the  Carthaginians  and  Phoenicians,  500 
B.  C.,  it  has  been  eagerly  frequented  by  traders  in  search 
of  slaves  and  wealth.  In  the  latter  part  of  the  14th  Cen 
tury,  the  Portuguese  discovered  the  Congo,  one  of  the  great 
rivers  of  the  world.  They  rounded  Good  Hope  and  set 
tled  Natal  on  the  southeast  coast.  In  the  18th  Century, 
England  alone  took  3,000,000  slaves  from  these  West 
Coast  ports,  and  many  of  them  were  brought  to  America. 
They  are  the  forebears  of  our  southern  negroes.  In  addi 
tion  to  the  above  number  of  slaves,  2,500,000  more  were 
lost  either  in  the  treacherous  surf,  which  girds  Africa  like  a 
wall,  or  died  from  exposure  and  disease.  Liberia  is  also  on 
this  coast  and  so  is  the  French  Congo,  wherein  Paul  du 
Chaillu  discovered  that  wonderful  anthropoid,  the  gorilla. 
Quite  recently,  Livingstone  and  Stanley  sailed  this  West 
Coast,  and  just  a  little  over  one  year  ago,  for  the  first  time 
in  the  history  of  American  commerce,  a  trading  ship  sailed 
direct  from  New  York  to  secure  some  of  its  trade  for  which 
Europeans  have  fought  for  centuries.  The  flag  followed 
the  trader  out  there  and  the  unhealthy  traffic  in  human 
flesh  was  succeeded  by  the  quest  for  the  commodities  neces 
sary  to  civilization  in  which  the  Dark  Continent  abounds. 


IN  EXPLANATION 

After  all,  we  Americans  have  some  link  with  HELL'S 
PLAYGROUND,  and,  revolting  and  repellent  though  its 
life  may  be,  to  researchers  and  students  that  which  w  is 
ever  interesting  and  instructing. 

IDA  VERA  SIMONTON. 

New  York  City,  August,  1912. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 


CHAPTER  I 

OFF  the  west  coast  of  Africa  a  terrific  tornado  raged. 
Forked  lightning  rent  night's  Stygian  veil,  and,  with  un 
canny  brilliancy,  uncovered  yawning,  heaving  depths 
beneath  and  angry  heavens  above;  rain  descended  in 
straight,  destructive  streams  like  shrapnel  from  an  ex- 
haustless  reservoir;  a  fog  siren  moaned  like  a  lost  soul, 
and,  now  and  then  as  though  escaping  from  Pluto's 
realm,  came  the  timid,  ghost-like  tinkle  of  a  half -sub 
merged  bell. 

In  treacherous  seas  the  Nigeria  tossed  with  her  engines 
slowed  down;  waves  like  huge  batteries  hammered  her 
bow,  drenched  her  deserted  decks  and  threatened  to  pound 
her  to  pieces ;  malignant,  warring  winds  shrieked  through 
her  rigging;  furled  canvases  tugged  at  fastenings;  oil 
bags  were  wrenched  from  bow  and  sides  and  hurled  vin 
dictively  through  turbulent  space.  Aloft,  the  lookout 
clung  for  his  life,  his  eyes,  keen  as  gimlets,  attempting 
to  bore  night's  opaque  wall ;  lashed  to  his  scanty  foothold 
and  drenched  by  furious  seas  the  quartermaster  cast  the 
lead  and  in  deep-throated  tones  sang  out  the  soundings. 
From  the  bridge,  through  the  growling  of  thunder,  the 
shrieking  of  winds  and  the  bombardment  of  rain  and  seas, 
came  the  skipper's  commands  in  sharp,  crisp  sentences. 

1 


2  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Hurried  feet  crossed  slippery  decks ;  nimble  figures 
climbed  swaying  ladders ;  lives  were  risked  without  fear 
or  hesitation.  Every  man  of  the  crew  was  at  work  or 
else  stood  by  for  orders.  The  fight  was  an  unequal  one: 
untrammeled  Nature  against  man's  confined  resources. 

With  the  grip  of  a  Titan  and  jaws  hard  set,  the  man 
at  the  wheel  forced  the  Nigeria's  prow  into  the  very  teeth 
of  the  tornado  and  battled  to  hold  her  course.  Winds, 
seas  and  rain  attacked  at  the  same  time  and  from  all 
directions,  causing  the  steamer  to  groan  from  stem  to 
stern  as,  with  timbers  and  bolts  a-quiver,  she  plunged 
into  abysmal  depths  until  the  ocean's  very  bed  seemed 
reached,  then,  like  some  huge  leviathan,  she  shook  her 
sides,  and  up,  UP,  UP  she  crawled  to  mountainous 
heights,  only  to  be  repulsed  again  and  again  by  the  fury 
of  rampant  Nature ! 

Below,  ports  and  doors  were  closed  and  securely  fas 
tened.  Not  a  soul  slept.  Along  a  narrow  alleyway,  a 
dark-robed  priest  stumbled  back  and  forth,  his  long  fin 
gers  caressing  his  beads,  his  pale  lips  tightly  compressed. 
In  such  moments  appeals  are  mute. 

In  a  stuffy,  inside  cabin,  the  body  of  a  young  nun, 
and  the  only  woman  aboard,  rolled  to  and  fro  in  tempo 
with  the  ship's  mad  plunging.  Of  all  those  on  that 
storm-tossed,  floating  world,  she  alone  was  at  rest ;  death 
had  mercifully  silenced  mortal  terror  and  eased  physical 
pain. 

But  different  was  the  scene  in  the  smoking  room : 
neither  quiet  nor  repose  was  there.  Smoke  from  burn 
ing  tobaccos  of  many  kinds,  odors  from  spirits,  fresh 
and  stale ;  the  distinctive  smells  of  human  beings  packed 
into  small,  ill-ventilated  space  added  distressingly  to  an 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  3 

already  surcharged  and  depressed  atmosphere ;  and  each 
man,  according  to  his  nature,  did  his  best  to  appear  in 
different  to  Nature's  tirade.  In  groups  they  were,  none 
sat  alone ;  none  had  that  courage,  for  in  proximity  there 
is  comfort.  Glass  after  glass  of  scorching  liquors  were 
drained  for  the  false  courage  therein ;  other  men  denied 
themselves  lest  shaking  fingers  attest  their  nervousness ; 
others  attempted  games  of  chance,  despite  scattering 
chips  and  falling  cards ;  still  others  lied  viciously  of 
dangers  braved  and  lived  through ;  each  and  every  man 
groped  for  courage  in  self-deception. 

Old  coasters  sat  deep  in  their  chairs,  their  feet  far 
apart  and  planted  firmly  on  the  floor.  Toying  with 
pegs  of  brandy  and  soda,  they  pretended  to  revel  in  the 
night's  horrors  and  added  to  them  by  their  loud-mouthed 
conversation,  which,  with  ghoulish  glee,  was  fashioned  to 
torture  the  first-time-out  men. 

"  'Twas  in  just  such  a  storm  as  this  that  the  Helene 
Woermann  went  down,"  said  Longworthy,  nonchalantly. 
"  Men  were  drowned  like  rats  in  a  flooded  gutter  —  not 
a  soul  left  to  — 

"  She  floundered  at  night,"  cut  in  Haywood,  "  but 
how  about  that  French  steamer  that  only  two  months 
ago  went  down  right  off  here  in  broad  daylight  and  on 
as  fine  a  day  as  you'd  want  to  see?  " 

"  That's  so,"  drawled  old  Wallace.  "  It  don't  mat 
ter  whether  it's  night  or  day,  ships  just  have  to  go  down 
—  they  can't  help  themselves  - —  every  mile  of  this  bally 
west  coast's  marked  with  wrecks  and  I  wouldn't  be  sur 
prised  if  we  went  down  any  minute." 

There  was  silence  among  the  tcnderfeet ;  a  silence  of 
fear,  of  curiosity  to  know  the  worst. 


4  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

"  Gimme  my  choice,"  opined  Boynton,  "  and  it's  quick 
slide  down  the  neck  of  a  shark  rather  than  a  shallow  hole 
in  the  infernal  bush  where  beastly  vultures'll  dig  me  out 
and  make  merry  over  me  carcass." 

"  Me  too,"  cried  Haywood  and  Longworthy  in 
chorus. 

"  Speaking  of  vultures  reminds  me  of  Jimsy  Craig," 
recalled  Wallace.  "  He  preferred  the  rusty-razor  route 
to  a  slow  cash-in  with  vultures  setting  outside  waiting  for 
his  carcass  —  but  the  vultures  got  him  anyway.  Poor 
Jimsy !  " 

"  Steward !     Brandy,  neat !  " 

It  was  Cartwright,  a  tenderfoot,  who  spoke.  His  voice 
was  thin,  painfully  so. 

"  Brandy  reminds  me  of  LaRue,"  remarked  Long- 
worthy,  lightly  as  though  he  were  recalling  a  pleasant 
event.  "  He  swore  he'd  never  die  sober.  He  kept  his 
oath.  Tornado  like  this.  Lightning  like  flames  from 
hell.  One  took  a  fancy  to  rum-soaked  LaRue.  Quick 
combustion.  Finish !  " 

"  Yes,  and  'twas  on  just  such  a  night  as  this,  with 
all  hell  let  loose,"  began  old  Wallace  in  his  slow,  irrita 
ting  drawl,  when  Kingsf ord  interrupted : 

"  Shut  up,  damn  you,  shut  up !  Ever  since  Liver 
pool  you've  done  nothing  but  dig  up  moth-eaten  horrors 
fit  only  for  retailing  in  hell !  We  grant  you  the  climate's 
notoriously  bad,  the  natives  ain't  hail-fellows-well-met; 
and  because  we're  alive  at  sundown's  no  reason  we'll 
see  sunrise,  but  there's  a  time  to  let  up  and  it's  come 
now !  " 

"  Yes,  it's  come  now,"  seconded  Cartwright.  "  If 
we've  got  to  go  to-night,  let  our  last  moments  be  as 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  5 

pleasant  as  possible.  No  use  swallowing  more  agony 
than  we  have  to." 

"  Fine  soldiers  of  fortune  you  chaps  are,"  Long- 
worthy  taunted.  "  We're  off  Hell's  Playground ;  get 
into  the  game,  you'll  have  a  better  chance ;  come  on : 
laugh,  drink,  be  merry,  to-morrow  belongs  to  no  man." 

As  though  to  corroborate  his  words,  the  Nigeria  made 
a  deeper  plunge,  causing  men  to  clutch  at  iron-fastened 
tables  to  keep  their  equilibrium,  while  lightning  flashed 
through  the  room  in  incessant  streams,  fiend-driven  rain 
became  more  insistent,  and  thunder  growled  nearer, 
nearer ! 

Kingsford  forced  himself  to  his  feet ;  Longworthy's 
taunt  loaned  power  to  his  voice,  and,  holding  his  glass 
aloft,  he  cried : 

"  Up,  everybody  !  Let's  drink  to  Hell's  Playground ; 
may  the  devil  do  his  damnedest,  but  not  before  we've  had 
a  go  at  Africa's  voluptuous  daughters  and  had  a  run  for 
our  money." 

A  pandemonium  of  hysteria  followed  as  strained  nerves 
sought  relief  before  impending  annihilation.  Men  were 
on  their  feet  cursing  madly,  vehemently,  venomously,  all 
save  one  and  he  kept  his  chair,  his  glass  remained  un 
touched  on  the  table ;  his  eyes  were  looking  through 
ports  whose  curtains  were  as  naught  against  the  insist 
ence  of  the  hissing  lightning.  The  play  of  the  elements 
fascinated  him.  He  had  never  before  witnessed  such  a 
boisterous,  tropical  night,  such  a  tirade  of  Nature  upon 
so  grand  and  terrible  a  scale. 

Kingsford  was  stung  to  renewed  resentment. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you,  the  Honorable  Cecil 
Huntingdon,"  he  demanded,  in  a  shrill,  sarcastic  staccato. 


6  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

"  Afraid  to  drink  to  truth?  Better  swim  back  to 
England  and  mother;  Hell's  Playground  is  no  place  for 
nincompoops !  " 

He  emphasized  the  last  word  and  its  syllables  came 
slowly,  derisively. 

Like  a  flash,  Huntingdon  was  on  his  feet.  His  eyes 
blazed  dangerously  and  his  young,  lithe,  athletic  form 
was  tense  for  action. 

"  He's  drunk,  Huntingdon,  don't  mind  him,"  assuaged 
Haywood,  placing  himself  between  the  two  men. 

"  Drunk,"  shrieked  Kingsford,  losing  all  control  of 
himself.  "  I'm  no  more  drunk  than  the  rest  of  you. 
This  bally  aristocrat's  on  me  nerves.  He  belongs  at 
Mamma's  tea-table." 

With  a  spring,  Huntingdon  was  upon  Kingsford;  he 
snapped  Kingsford's  jaws  shut  and  commanded  in  a  low, 
vibrant  voice,  which  stewards  hastened  to  obey : 

"  Take  the  fellow  below  and  lock  him  in !  " 

Fighting  and  kicking  viciously  and  cursing  Hunting 
don  roundly,  Kingsford  was  unceremoniously  led  below. 

Silence  followed  his  exit. 

The  artillery  of  the  heavens  was  immediately  over 
head  ;  the  thunder  was  deafening ;  like  fingers  of  live 
devils  lightning  played  on  this  man  and  then  on  that; 
winds  rose  higher  and  higher;  the  fury  of  the  seas  in 
creased,  and  on  all  sides  the  water  gurgled  like  demons 
hungry  for  prey. 

On  the  after-deck  something  gave  way  and  there  fol 
lowed  a  rending,  a  groaning,  as  though  the  Nigeria's 
very  vitals  were  being  forced  apart ! 

Eyes  of  men  met! 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  7 

Instinctively  there  was  a  drawing  together,  a  feeling 
of  oneness,  of  common  peril ! 

Stripped  was  each  man  of  his  mask ! 

Breathing  was  difficult ! 

Pretense  no  longer  supportable ! 

Pipes  and  cigars  went  out ! 

Excruciating  silence  reigned ! 

There  came  terrific  blasts  as  though  overhead  worlds 
were  exploding! 

For  a  second  the  Nigeria  poised  in  mid-air  as  though 
to  resist  the  perils  besieging  her,  then,  punished  for  her 
audacity,  she  was  dragged  violently  dozen,  down,  down! 

Glasses  and  bottles  spilled  their  contents  and  toppled 
to  the  floor ! 

Money,  chips,  cards,  followed  in  quick  succession. 
Back  and  forth  they  rolled  on  the  floor  with  nerve-de 
stroying  clatter! 

Men,  hollow-eyed  and  nerveless,  held  their  breath  and 
waited;  waited  helpless,  inert;  a  hell  of  hells  horrible  in 
its  intensity ! 

In  the  compass  of  seconds  was  crowded  a  century  of 
agony. 

"  Like  rats  in  a  flooded  gutter  —  that's  the  way  they 
would  perish ! "  so  said  the  old  coasters,  the  men  who 
knew ! 

The  imperiled  were  going  to  pieces  under  that  awful 
menace  !  when  suddenly  a  cry  cut  the  air  like  steel  plunged 
into  molten  metal.  It  was  one  word,  only  one:  that  of 
MOTHER  !  and  it  was  wrung  from  a  boyish  throat. 

Its  terror,  finality,  petition  for  aid,  were  agonizing, 
yet  it  eased  the  insufferable  tension. 


8  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Unmindful  of  the  plunging  ship,  Huntingdon  leaped 
to  the  boy's  side  and  grasped  his  shoulders. 

"  It's  pretty  rough,  old  man,  I  know.  But  Hains  has 
the  ship's  nose  right  in  the  teeth  of  it.  That's  the  way 
he  fights.  Let's  face  it  that  way,  you  and  I  together, 
old  chap,  you  and  I  together !  " 

Sincere,  spontaneous  were  Huntingdon's  words ;  cour 
ageous  his  bearing,  comforting  his  manner.  Men  were 
dragged  from  the  very  depths  of  physical  fear. 

Haywood  squared  his  shoulders  and  pulled  down  the 
coat  of  his  uniform.  He  was  again  a  soldier,  an  empire 
builder,  fearless  and  brave. 

Stifling,  hot,  though  the  room  was,  Wallace  tightly 
buttoned  up  his  coat.  He,  too,  was  ready ! 

Longworthy's  thoughts  were  not  pleasant,  if  twitching 
lips  and  wrinkled  brows  speak  true,  but  suddenly,  his 
features  grew  rigid,  he  sat  back  in  his  chair,  grasped  its 
arms,  and  was  ready  ! 

Boynton,  unconscious  of  his  actions,  opened  a  jack- 
knife  and  commenced  to  whittle  the  stem  of  his  pipe ; 
then,  conscious,  he  dropped  knife  and  pipe,  sat  back, 
and  waited. 

The  four  old  coasters ;  Huntingdon,  the  tenderfoot, 
and  Hertford,  the  boy,  were  grouped  together,  their 
faces  towards  the  bow ! 

Suddenly  Cartwright  joined  them. 

A  look,  just  one,  passed  swiftly  from  eye  to  eye. 

Strong  men  were  confessed  and  cowards  were  be 
trayed  ! 

Cowards  lay  prone  upon  the  floor,  faces  hidden,  fingers 
stuffed  in  ears. 

Knees  long  unaccustomed  to  supplication's  bow  now 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  9 

bent  in  abject  terror!  Lips  unused  to  pray  tried  to 
fashion  petitions  to  the  Most-High  1 

The  Nigeria  pitched  and  plunged,  quicker  and  shorter, 
as  a  drowning  thing  in  her  death  throes ! 

With  an  unearthly  cry  a  steward  collapsed  on  a  table, 
then  tumbled  hard  to  the  floor !  His  cheek  was  split 
open,  blood  deluged  his  white  coat. 

But  men  saw  naught,  heard  naught  but  their  own 
thoughts. 

Acts  which  the  dead  past  seemed  to  have  buried  sprang 
into  magnified  existence. 

Hidden  crimes  cried  aloud,  and  good  deeds  were  silent. 
Death,  the  relentless,  the  revealer,  stalked  abroad.  Men 
saw  themselves  as  they  were,  loathsome  creatures  from 
which  their  own  natures  recoiled. 

Women  trooped  by,  one  by  one :  a  mother ;  a  sister ;  a 
wife ;  a  sweetheart ;  a  toy  of  the  moment ;  women  of  all 
kinds ;  a  world  of  them,  accusing,  mocking,  comfort 
ing ! 

When  life's  forces  were  stretched  to  their  fullest  and 
the  tension  was  at  breaking  point,  an  unusually  sharp  ex 
plosion  overhead  was  followed  by  others  in  quick  suc 
cession,  receding  farther  and  farther  away  and  diminish 
ing  in  intensity  until  the  heavens  reverberated  with  what 
seemed  random  shots  let  go  from  rapidly-retreating  can 
non  ;  the  lightning  was  not  so  vivid,  nor  quick,  nor  near, 
and  the  wind  grew  less  wild  ! 

A  comparative  calm  reigned  above,  while  the  sea  con 
tinued  to  pound  and  menace,  and  the  ship  plunged  and 
rocked,  plunged  and  rocked ! 

Wallace  removed  his  cap  and  mopped  the  sweat  from 
his  brow. 


10  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Cartright  sat  down. 

Huntingdon  released  the  boy. 

Haywood  undid  his  high  military  collar. 

Boynton  and  Longworthy  mechanically  stooped  and 
picked  up  cards  and  chips. 

Cowards  uncovered  their  heads. 

Crouching  men  scrambled  to  their  feet. 

Fitful  came  the  lightning  flashes ;  the  thunder  was 
spasmodic  and  faint  in  the  distant  heavens,  when  Boyn 
ton  spoke : 

"  Palaver  set.      West  coast  tornadoes  always  steal  off 
like  that  after  scaring  human  beings  to  death.     We'll 
plunge  and  pitch  for  hours  yet,  but  I'll  gamble  on  our 
skipper.     He's  Irish  and  luck's  always  with  the  Irish  — 
when  it  ain't  forninst  them." 

"  Here's  to  Hains,"  cried  Wallace.  "  May  God  bless 
'im  and  the  divvil  ne'er  scorch  the  hair  on  his  hide." 

The  game  of  life  was  again  taken  up. 

Cowards  became  brave  and  strong  men  assumed  care 
lessness.  But  moods  were  softer,  less  vehement ;  less 
positive  were  acts  and  words ;  the  air  was  still  surcharged 
with  death's  menace. 

"  A  west  coast  tornado's  like  passion,  the  harlot,  who 
masquerades  under  the  name  of  love,"  declared  Haywood. 
"  Hell's  flame  while  it  lasts,  then  —  I  say,  Steward,  now 
we  will  have  a  drink.  No  alloys ;  straight  pegs, 
brandy?  " 

Every  head  inclined  favorably.  And  when  the  drinks 
were  served,  old  Wallace  drawled: 

"  Yes,  this  coast's  got  a  peculiar  brand  of  everything: 
climate,  diseases,  white  men,  justice,  women  and  slander. 
They'll  greet  us  to-morrow  at  Sierra  Leone." 


11 

"  And  Sierra  Leone's  my  port,"  sighed  Boynton. 

Silence  fell,  and,  one  by  one,  men  stole  off  to  bed. 
The  horrors  of  the  night  killed  all  enthusiasm  natural 
before  the  first  port  of  a  long  sea  voyage,  and  the  croak 
ing  of  the  old  coasters  had  left  tenderfeet  dubious 
whether  or  not  they  cared  to  go  ashore  before  their  des 
tinations  were  reached. 

Haywood  and  Longworthy  were  alone,  having  a  night 
cap.  The  conversation  was  of  the  tornado  lived  through 
and  the  actions  of  the  different  men. 

"  I  tell  you,  Longworthy,  when  death  beckons,  every 
man's  cards  are  down  on  the  table  and  you  get  the  color 
of  his  soul.  Gad,  didn't  the  blood  of  Huntingdon's  il 
lustrious  and  noble  ancestors  flare  up  gloriously !  He 
ought  to  be  in  the  army  — 

"  There's  some  scandal  why  he  isn't,"  interrupted 
Longworthy,  the  commoner,  the  man  of  trade.  "  I've 
traveled  this  coast  too  many  times  and  lived  Africa's 
life  too  long  to  be  fooled.  He's  the  black  sheep  of  the 
family  all  right  and  he's  sent  out  here  for  the  climate 
to  make  quick  work  of.  A  pretty  tale  they  tell !  Be 
trothed  to  Lady  Marjorie,  old  Lord  Grahame's  daugh 
ter,  poor  and  proud  the  whole  pack  o'  them,  and  this 
chap  coming  out  here  to  Hell's  Playground  to  make  his 
own  pile !  That  sounds  romantic,  but  it  don't  hide  the 
truth  from  me.  You  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  this 
west  coast  has  been  for  years  the  dumping  ground  for 
Europe's  undesirables,  and  this  Huntingdon's  one  of 
them.  The  like  of  him  to  engage  in  trade !  "  and  Long- 
worthy's  contemptuous  sneer  was  pronounced.  "  He 
don't  know  any  more  about  trade  than  — 

"  You  do  about  gentlemen,"  snapped  Haywood,  the 


12  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

soldier  and  man  of  good  breeding.  "  Peers  are  going 
into  trade  daily  —  they've  got  to,  and  Cecil  Huntingdon, 
the  youngest  son  of  Lord  Bedford  —  his  mother,  you 
know  is  the  Duke  of  Granville's  daughter  —  shows  pro 
gression  and  independence  to  break  away  from  polo, 
bridge  and  the  tiresome  but  gay  life  of  the  King's  very 
set  and  come  out  to  rough  it  and  wrestle  wealth  from 
the  great  African  forests.  I  admire  his  grit  and  no  man 
can  insult  him  in  my  presence !  " 

"  Well,  there's  one  consolation.  Hell's  Playground 
isn't  any  respecter  of  pedigree.  If  the  climate  don't 
get  Huntingdon,  the  mammies  will,"  and  Longworthy 
chortled  sardonically.  "  A  full-blooded,  young  chap 
like  him  can  no  more  live  without  women  than  I  can  exist 
without  air  to  breathe.  The  first  thing  he'll  do  will 
be  to  set  up  a  harem." 

"  I  hope  not,"  aud  Haywood  sighed  reminiscently  and 
mournfully. 

"  Gad,  Haywood,  you're  not  going  to  turn  sky  pilot 
and  warn  tenderfeet  against  the  ladies  of  color.  I 
thought  you  were  a  soldier." 

Longworthy's  sneer  killed  the  gentle  in  Haywood,  and 
he  cried : 

"  You're  right,  Longworthy,  Huntingdon's  blonde 
beauty'll  play  havoc  with  the  mammies,  and  his  tall  stat 
ure,  kingly  bearing  and  natural  dignity '11  win  half  his 
battle  in  trade.  The  savages  will  kotow  to  him  on  sight 
and  if  he'll  not  get  in  too  deep  with  the  ladies,  he  stands 
a  pretty  good  fighting  chance  of  making  his  pile  and 
marrying  the  Lady  Marjorie.  Gad,  Longworthy,  I'm 
glad  Sierra  Leone's  at  hand.  These  thirteen  days  and 
nights  have  been  agony  to  me.  I  couldn't  stand  it 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  13 

another  day.  I'm  anxious  to  see  the  Yorubas  Captain 
Collingwood  left  with  Morrison.  I'll  take  one;  you  can 
have  the  other,  if  she'll  suit." 

"  She'll  suit  all  right.  Collingwood's  an  epicure  where 
women  are  concerned  and  what's  good  enough  for  him 
is  good  enough  for  yours  truly  all  right.  The  bally 
ship's  on  me  nerves,  too,  and  a  bit  of  women's  society'll 
be  welcome  after  the  abstemious  voyage  of  the  ship,  eh, 
old  chap?  " 

Haywood  laughed  amorously  and  ordered  another 
drink. 


CHAPTER  II 

IN  his  cabin,  Huntingdon  pulled  at  his  calabash  pipe. 
He  was  unconscious  of  the  heat,  the  pounding  of  the 
sea,  the  tossing  of  the  ship.  His  thoughts  were  of  the 
fast-moving  events  of  the  past  three  months.  What  a 
battle  royal  he  had  with  his  imperious  mother  to  get  her 
consent  to  his  entering  trade ;  then,  it  was  only  gained  by 
his  agreeing  to  pose  before  the  world  as  off  on  a  long 
hunting  trip  to  Africa  for  big  game. 

"  To  hunt,"  the  Lady  Bedford  said,  "  is  the  pastime 
of  kings,  but  were  the  world  to  know  that  a  son  of  mine 
was  engaged  in  plebeian  trade,  our  noble  forbears  would 
leave  their  graves  and  come  to  torture  me.  Your  an 
cestors  were  gentlemen,  Cecil  dear;  they  never  earned  a 
shilling  in  their  lives  !  " 

But  Huntingdon  was  tired  of  money  lenders  and  sick 
of  the  efforts  made  by  his  mother  to  keep  going  in  the 
world  into  which  they  were  born.  His  oldest  brother, 
and  heir  to  the  title,  had  married  for  wealth,  a  woman 
older  than  himself  and  one  he  respected  but  did  not  love. 
Huntingdon's  -fiancee,  the  Lady  Mar j  one,  was,  like  Hunt 
ingdon,  long  on  mortgaged  estates  and  short  of  cash. 
He  loved  her  deeply  and  truly,  too  deeply  and  truly  to 
ask  her  to  share  poverty  and  pretense  with  him.  She 
was  worth  winning,  worth  working  for,  worth  throwing 
over  ancestral  traditions  for.  It  is  true  he  shrank  from 
trade  at  home,  but  Africa  was  so  far  away  he  would  be 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  15 

spared  the  eye-drooping  and  the  shoulder-shrugs  of  his 
noble  relatives  and  friends.  He  was  not  yet  strong 
enough  to  brave  them.  It  was  only  his  great  love  for 
Marjorie  that  had  recently  made  a  man  of  him,  that  fired 
the  ambition  to  dare,  to  do,  to  create  for  himself  —  and 
her.  He  appreciated  the  pain  and  humiliation  he  caused 
his  mother  by  his  decision  to  enter  trade.  His  mother 
had  made  a  girl  of  him  because  daughters  were  denied 
her.  She  would  be  lonesome  without  him,  for  his  father. 
Lord  Bedford,  hated  bridge  and  drawing-rooms,  teas 
and  bazaars,  and,  save  where  court  etiquette  demanded 
it,  he  never  accompanied  his  lady. 

But  what  a  brick  the  mater  was  after  all !  She  not 
only  fitted  him  out  properly  for  a  three-years'  stay  in 
Africa,  but  had  bade  him  go  forth  and  conquer ! 

The  influence  of  his  father  secured  for  him  a  position 
for  one  year  as  trader  with  the  British  firm  of  John  Holt 
&  Company  at  Cape  Lopez  in  the  Congo  Franfais,  just 
under  the  equator.  The  salary  was  less  than  he  was 
wont  to  throw  away  in  tips,  but  it  was  rich  in  what  he 
needed  most  and  must  have :  experience.  He  would  come 
in  direct  touch  with  the  natives ;  he  would  learn  barter 
and  sale  and  the  values  of  native  products ;  he  would 
study  the  business  from  the  ground  up.  After  his  year 
of  apprenticeship,  he  would  branch  out  a  trader  on  his 
own  account,  his  father  having  promised  if  he  made  good 
in  that  one  year,  to  get  together  sufficient  capital  to  float 
an  independent  trading  company  of  which  he,  Cecil, 
was  to  be  the  head.  Trading  houses  established  on  the 
coast  for  upwards  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  years  would 
have  to  be  competed  with,  but  the  country  was  so  rich  in 
products  necessary  to  civilization  that  a  new  company, 


16 

properly  financed  and  managed,  could  not  but  reap  vast 
profits. 

In  consulting  with  Mr.  Holt  in  Liverpool,  Hunting 
don  was  told  the  truth  about  his  berth :  the  monotonous, 
isolated  life ;  the  unhealthy  climatic  conditions ;  the 
treachery  of  the  natives.  But  Huntingdon's  loins  were 
girded  for  a  fight,  and  obstacles  to  be  combated,  only 
whetted  his  determination  to  succeed. 

In  his  two  years  as  an  independent  trader  he  expected 
to  lay  the  foundation  of  a  fortune  sufficient  for  him  to 
marry  upon.  After  his  marriage,  he  would  return  to 
Africa  only  periodically  to  look  after  his  interests  and 
to  increase  his  holdings.  He  would  put  first  class  men 
in  local  charge,  and  in  ten  years,  or  perhaps  a  less  time, 
he  would  have  an  income  large  enough  to  sustain  Mar- 
jorie  and  himself  in  the  state  befitting  their  birth. 

Mighty,  indeed,  were  his  plans  for  a  tenderfoot,  but 
youth  and  inexperience  are  confident  and  brave  —  only 
graybeards  draw  back  and  hesitate. 

The  long  voyage  out, —  which  the  old  coasters  had 
designated  as  thirteen  days  and  nights  of  almost  unen 
durable  torture  and  monotony, —  was  of  absorbing  inter 
est  to  Huntingdon.  Worlds  were  revealed  to  him  of 
whose  existence  he  had  never  even  dreamed.  The  ship 
was  small ;  the  company  a  motley  one ;  not  at  all  the 
usual  sort  found  aboard  an  ocean  liner.  Men  were  of 
high  and  low  degree ;  others  scarce  knew  their  names,  or 
else  hid  their  true  ones  under  an  euphonius  sobriquet. 
Each  man  was  for  himself,  each  was  a  soldier  of  fortune 
out  to  try  his  luck  on  the  notorious  west  coast  of 
Africa. 

That  coast  and  to-morrow  were  at  hand.     Hunting- 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  17 

don  turned  to  meet  them.  He  flung  wide  his  port  and 
gazed  into  the  night. 

The  storm  had  passed. 

The  heavens  were  a  blue-black  velvet  canopy  studded 
with  diamonds  of  fiery  brilliancy.  There  was  no  moon, 
and  in  the  offing  lay  Africa,  silent,  mysterious  and  secre 
tive  ! 

Huntingdon  tried  to  pierce  the  blurred  coast  line. 
But  no  definite  shape  formed.  All  was  shadowy,  elu 
sive,  like  Africa's  early  history  —  a  matter  of  conjecture, 
a  myth,  yet,  withal,  terribly  real. 

As  he  mused,  blue-black  night  faded ;  one  by  one  the 
stars  silently  made  way  for  a  blue  dream-world  out  of 
which  the  continent  of  Africa  was  born  and  took  definite 
shape;  then,  with  a  suddenness  that  startled,  final  shad 
ows  disappeared  before  the  gentle  caress  of  rosy-fin 
gered  dawn ;  sunbeams  danced  on  silver-crested  waves 
which  but  a  few  hours  since  were  ridden  by  demons  of 
the  deep,  and  revealed  was  Africa,  no  longer  dark  and 
mysterious,  but  sun-flooded  and  enticing ! 

After  leagues  and  leagues  of  monotonous  sea  level  and 
limitless  sky,  Sierra  Leone  arose  from  the  sea's  very  rim 
a  mountain  of  surpassing  beauty.  The  arid  sunlight 
played  upon  it  with  startling  brilliancy,  revealing  tree- 
smothered  heights  embowered  in  effervescent  vegetation 
and  efflorescent  flowers,  and  throwing  into  bold  relief  the 
sun-scorched,  sandy  wharfs  and  the  crooked,  winding 
streets  of  Freetown ;  the  long,  red-tin-roofed  factories 
and  white  houses  of  the  Europeans,  and  the  mud  huts 
of  the  natives. 

And  Sierra  Leone  —  Iron  Mountain  —  smiled  a  wel 
come.  Sierra  Leone  which  centuries  before  Christ  scared 


18 

off  Hannibal,  the  Carthaginian,  and  centuries  later  sent 
the  Portuguese  away  in  terror  by  the  roaring  of  its 
winds ! 

How  harmless  Africa  appeared  in  the  brilliant  sun 
light,  clothed  in  nature's  most  fetching  garb  —  eternal 
summer. 

Huntingdon  was  thrilled  through  and  through. 
Whistling  blithety  he  made  his  toilet ;  he  clothed  himself 
in  immaculate  white ;  he  was  anxious  to  set  foot  on  the 
land  from  which  he  would  compel  wealth ;  to  explore  a 
British  colony  at  first  hand;  and,  above  all,  to  stretch 
his  limbs  in  exercise.  His  active  temperament  had 
chafed  against  the  confinement  of  the  ship.  But  the 
first  long  leg  of  the  journey  was  over,  from  now  on 
ports  were  more  frequent  and  at  every  one  he  determined 
to  go  ashore. 


CHAPTER  III 

HUNTINGDON  was  the  first  white  man  on  deck.  Na 
tives  in  dug-outs  surrounded  the  steamer  and,  begging 
coins,  dived  into  the  water  after  them,  to  come  up  smil 
ing,  the  coin  held  between  their  gleaming  teeth.  Such 
rapid,  accurate  diving  Huntingdon  had  never  before  wit 
nessed,  and  he  was  only  too  glad  to  empty  his  pockets 
of  loose  change. 

Up  the  Nigeria's  ladders  climbed  the  most  perfect 
specimens  of  black  humanity  Huntingdon  eve"  gazed 
upon.  They  were  the  noted  Krus,  who  are  the  back 
bone  of  the  white  man's  trade  in  Africa.  Clothed  in 
singlet  and  loin  cloths,  or  only  the  latter,  each  man  was 
a  Hercules,  and  Huntingdon  watched  them  dexterously 
unload  the  cargo  for  Freetown. 

With  Longworthy  and  Hay  wood,  Huntingdon  went 
ashore.  Freetown,  the  Port  Said  of  the  west  coast, 
and  one  of  the  most  infamous  slaving  ports  that  has 
passed  into  history,  interested  him  keenly  and  surprised 
him  mightily.  He  expected  tropical  dreariness ;  he 
found  the  bustle  and  activity  of  Europe.  The  scene 
was  un-African  to  the  highest  degree;  ships  were  un 
loading  and  loading,  coaling,  and  being,  overhauled; 
trained  black  troops  were  going  aboard  transports ;  raw 
recruits  were  being  taken  therefrom ;  great  cranes  and 
dredges  were  at  work,  and  on  the  beach  were  cosmopoU 
itan  crowds,  speaking  divers  tongues.  There  seemed  ev- 

19 


20  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

ery  civilization  and  every  want  of  it.  Dressed-up  Euro 
peans  and  Asiatics  elbowed  almost  nude  bush  negroes. 
Arabs,  Berbers  and  Mohammedan  negroes  were  pictur 
esque  in  turban  and  burnouse;  Turks  and  Persians  in 
baggy  trousers,  broad,  brilliant  silk  sashes  and  the  fez; 
white  women  were  conspicuous  by  their  absence  and 
white  men  by  their  deathly  pallor,  their  languor  and 
their  simple  dress  of  white  duck  or  khaki. 

Nude  negroes  Huntingdon  expected  nor  was  he  of 
fended  at  first  sight  of  them,  but  the  dressed-up  variety 
seemed  members  of  a  grotesque  minstrel  show  gotten  up 
for  the  white  man's  amusement.  One  couple  was  espe 
cially  mirth-producing  and  yet  utterly  unconscious  of 
it.  The  woman  weighed  at  least  three  hundred  pounds 
and  was  garbed  in  a  loose  mother-hubbard  made  of  print 
goods  of  flaming  purple  covered  with  a  bold  de 
sign  of  luridly  colored  peacocks.  Her  dress  stood  out 
like  a  balloon  over  stiffly-starched,  white  embroidered 
petticoats ;  conspicuously  displayed  were  ankles  like  a 
Percheron's,  fat,  ugly  legs,  salmon  pink  stockings,  and 
broad,  flat  feet  forced  into  tan  European  shoes  with 
bursted  sides.  On  her  high,  conical-shaped  head  with  its 
mass  of  woolly  hair  was  perched  a  bit  of  a  black  straw 
sailor  hat;  she  reeked  to  high  heaven  of  trade  perfume 
and  she  was  literally  loaded  with  near-gold  European 
jewelry.  She  smiled  broadly  at  Huntingdon,  and, 
through  the  cavity  once  occupied  by  two  front  teeth, 
she  lisped  in  English  in  a  musical  voice : 

"  Good  day  to  you,  master." 

Longworthy  guffawed  gleefully  and  nudging  Hay- 
wood  in  the  ribs,  he  cried : 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  the  tenderfoot  had  us  all  skinned 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  21 

on  mammy  palaver.  G'wan,  Huntingdon,  follow  her 
up  !  She  could  be  worse,  but  not  much !  " 

The  companion  of  the  Sierra  Leone  mammy  was  a 
pewce  of  a  man,  thin,  old  and  wrinkled.  He  didn't 
weigh  one  hundred  pounds  and  he  wore  a  cast-off  dress 
coat  of  a  white  man  over  a  pair  of  red-  and  blue-striped 
Turkish  trousers.  Coat  and  trousers  were  too  large  for 
him.  His  arms  were  lost  in  the  long  sleeves  of  the  coat, 
its  tails  swept  the  ground,  and  its  lapels  were  thrown 
back,  completely  hiding  his  shoulders  and  exposing  a 
chest  covered  with  tribal  marks.  The  trousers  were 
turned  back  above  his  knees  from  whence  they  drooped 
disconsolately  and  would  have  dragged  on  the  ground 
save  for  something  which  supported  them  under  the  fold. 

Another  mammy,  in  addition  to  her  mother-hubbard 
and  many  underskirts,  wore  tightly  wound  about  her  fat 
hips  a  broad  cotton  scarf  of  Turkey  red  with  huge  yel 
low  polka  dots.  Emphasized  were  her  enormous  hips. 
She  did  not  walk;  she  just  edged  forward  in  sections 
like  a  huge  jellyfish. 

"  Opera  bouffe  with  all  its  trimmings,"  Huntingdon 
remarked,  thoroughly  amused,  when  he  abruptly  stopped 
and  gazed  in  silent  admiration  upon  a  native  bush  cara 
van  making  its  way  to  the  beach.  The  caravan  was 
large  and  the  carriers  heavily  laden  with  long,  narrow 
baskets  stuffed  with  native  products.  The  loads  were 
carried  on  their  backs  and  supported  from  the  forehead 
by  a  broad  band  of  plaited  grass  causing  their  heads 
to  constantly  droop  in  a  fatiguing  manner.  The  car 
riers  were  dirty  and  spent  and  had  evidently  traveled 
far.  So  slight  were  their  loin  cloths  that  they  might 
have  been  nude  and  about  their  necks  were  unsightty 


22  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

ju-ju  l  charms  to  guard  them  from  evil.  They  walked 
slowly  and  in  single  file.  The  faces  of  the  men  were 
hard  and  set,  repulsive  and  brutal ;  the  mouths  of  the 
women  and  children  were  open,  indicating  thorough 
exhaustion ;  the  breasts  of  the  women  were  flat,  shrivelled 
and  ugly,  and  in  addition  to  the  loads  on  their  backs, 
in  front,  suspended  from  their  necks  in  a  piece  of  cloth 
or  hide,  the  women  bore  their  children. 

For  the  first  time  the  tragedy  of  the  African  bush  was 
brought  home  to  Huntingdon ;  horses,  drays,  roads  were 
not  there;  all  carriage  was  head  portage  and  the  labor 
ers  were  a  free  people  who  toiled  not  for  themselves  but 
for  the  white  man. 

Longworthy,  the  man  of  trade,  was  decrying  the  lack 
of  transport  facilities  and  cursing  the  negro  for  his  lazi 
ness,  when  Haywood  expostulated,  translating  Hunting 
don's  very  thoughts. 

"  After  all,  Longworthy,  it's  the  poor  devil  of  a  negro 
who  slaves  and  it's  the  white  man  who  reaps  the  profits 
of  this  wealthy  continent.  Don't  forget,  that  without 
the  negro  the  white  man  would  have  no  business  here  and 
Africa  would  keep  her  wealth." 

It  was  such  an  unheard  of  thing  for  a  white  man,  and 
a  soldier,  to  defend  the  native  that  Longworthy  cried  in 
astonishment : 

"  Good  heavens,  Haywood,  you  must  be  tapped  by 
the  sun ! " 

"  Not  at  all,  Brother  Longworthy,  but  I  believe  in 
giving  the  devil  his  due." 

"  He  gets  his  due  all  right.  Don't  we  pay  him  for 
every  tap  of  work  he  does  for  us  — ' 

i  Local  name  for  fetish,  superstition. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  23 

"  And  don't  we  flog  him  unmercifully  when  he  won't 
work  — " 

"  He  ought  to  be  flogged  the  lazy  — 

"  Say,  Longworthy,  how  much  work  would  a  white 
man  do  if  nature  provided  every  want  for  him  as  she 
does  for  these  negroes  —  eh,  answer  me?  " 

"  Well,  she  don't,  then  why  lug  that  in  — " 

"  Answer  my  question,  please.  Would  you  work  un 
less  you  had  to  — " 

"  I'm  damned  if  he  ain't  sun-tapped,  Huntingdon. 
We'd  better  get  him  under  shelter  some  place." 

"  I'm  no  more  sun-tapped  than  you  are.  Answer  me 
this,  then ;  what  is  it  we  do  with  the  natives  and  their 
lands  when  they  are  no  longer  of  use  to  us?  " 

"  Why,  dammit  it,  Haywood,  you  soldiers  kill  more 
negroes  than  we  traders  do." 

"  But  answer  me,  please,  Longworthy,  what  is  it  we 
do—" 

"  Ah,  cut  it  — " 

"  I'll  answer  my  own  question  then.  When  we've  de 
stroyed  the  rubber  vines  in  a  district  and  scoured  it 
clean  for  ivory  and  robbed  the  natives  of  everything 
else  they  possess,  we  desert  the  land  and  cast  the  natives 
aside  like  squeezed  lemons.  We  call  it  exploitation, 
colonization,  but  it's  robbery  — 

"  Hell,  all  colonies  are  built  on  dead  men's  bones  — 

"  That  doesn't  alter  facts,  and  cruelty  is  cruelty  and 
inhumanity  inhumanity  no  matter  under  what  guise  they 
are  administered  — 

"  It's  you  soldiers  who  administer  them  — 

"  I'm  not  denying  that  — 

"  Mebbe  not,  but  you're  becoming  weak-kneed.     Gad, 


24  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Huntingdon,  I  believe  the  erstwhile  Captain  Haywood 
of  the  Royal  Irish  Fusiliers'll  be  turning  sky-pilot  and 
casting  his  life  among  these  brutes  who'd  kill  him  at 
the  first  opportunity  and  chop  him  too  if  they  didn't 
fear  the  vengeance  of  the  very  body  of  men  to  whom  he 
belongs.  Every  nigger's  a  cannibal  at  heart  and  secret 
poisons  and  poisoned  arrows  are  their  favorite  past- 
times." 

"  You're  right,  Longworthy,  about  the  cannibal  and 
the  poisons,"  Haywood  admitted,  overlooking  the  insult 
to  his  courage,  because  he  knew  that  Longworthy  meant 
no  insult,  that  anger  is  quick  to  come  and  quick  to  go  on 
the  coast,  that  the  climate  is  responsible  for  most  of 
the  shortcomings  of  the  white  men.  "  Still,  because  the 
negro  does  work  for  us  —  indifferently,  I  acknowledge, 
—  his  efforts  ought  to  be  appreciated,  and  because  the 
negroes  don't  arise  in  a  body  and  massacre  us  and  keep 
other  white  men  from  landing  on  their  coast  ought  to 
earn  them  some  consideration." 

"  It  ought,  but  it  don't,"  grumbled  Longworthy,  as 
he  lead  the  way  into  the  modern  post  office,  where  post 
cards,  letters  and  cables  were  sent  off  to  Europe. 

Then  followed  a  promenade  through  Freetown.  Its 
narrow,  hard-packed,  sandy  streets,  without  sidewalks, 
were  blinding  as  molten  metal  under  the  fierce  radiance 
of  the  African  sun. 

The  heat  was  not  the  dry,  blasting  sort  Huntingdon 
had  anticipated;  it  was  of  palm-house  mugginess  and 
so  dense  and  heavy  that  he  seemed  enveloped  in  a  hot, 
steaming  blanket  which  deluged  him  with  sweat,  pre 
vented  his  getting  a  full  breath,  and  made  his  legs  seem 
like  ton  weights,  and,  though  his  brain  willed  them  for- 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  25 

ward,  they  were  loath  to  obey.  For  the  first  time  he 
experienced  thorough  enervation ;  his  pith  helmet  was 
also  tight  and  made  his  head  ache  and  it  seemed  as 
thought  metal  rods  at  white  heat  were  being  plunged  into 
his  eyes.  He  was  thoroughly  wretched,  but  he  forced 
himself  on ;  he  laughed  at  the  grandiloquent  names  of 
the  various  streets  printed  on  boards  nailed  askew  on 
corner  palm  trees ;  he  admired  the  modern  market  on 
Market  Street  and  took  Longworthy's  word  for  it  that  it 
contained  every  article  exported  from,  or  imported  to,  the 
colony,  but  he  had  no  desire  to  explore  it ;  however,  he 
paused  in  admiration  amidst  the  native  markets  where  fat 
mammies  and  slender  bush-women  under  the  shelter  of 
huge,  black  European  umbrellas,  haggled  over  their  wares 
spread  out  on  the  ground  in  calabashes  of  all  shape  and 
sizes,  crowding  streets  and  impeding  traffic.  Noisy  was 
the  babel  of  tongues,  and  Huntingdon  marveled  at  the 
good-natured  disorder  of  it  all. 

In  and  out  of  a  low,  one  story,  frame  building  labeled 
King's  Own  Bar  natives  were  passing ;  beneath  the  legend 
Sara  Cole,  Trader,  in  the  doorway  of  her  little  shop 
stood  the  proprietress.  She  smiled  broadly  when  Hunt 
ingdon  stopped  and  glanced  over  her  stock  arranged  on 
crude  boxes  on  the  sidewalk.  He  was  thinking  how 
hideous  were  the  bold,  colored  designs  on  the  heavy 
white  china  dishes,  how  utterly  unnecessary  to  the  negro 
were  the  European  clothing  prominently  displayed  to 
attract  his  attention,  when  two  tiny  girls,  one  about  five 
and  the  other  about  three  years  of  age,  with  only  a 
strand  of  beads  about  their  waists,  advanced,  balancing 
on  their  little  well-poised  heads  copper  basins  holding 
water.  They  were  slender  and  dainty  as  though  a  Phid- 


26 

ias  had  carved  them  from  ebony,  and  they  didn't  notice 
the  admiring  white  man  until  they  came  full  upon  him, 
then,  the  littlest  one,  startled,  let  drop  her  pan  of  water 
and  ran  away  screaming,  while  the  other  stood  stock 
still,  too  paralyzed  to  move.  When  Huntingdon  passed 
on,  she  ran  as  fast  as  she  could  go  and  she  too  screamed 
at  the  top  of  her  thin,  childish  voice. 

"  I  say,  old  chap,"  Longworthy  called  out,  "  look  at 
the  enormous  girth  of  those  cottonwoods !  Africa's  full 
of  big  timber  and  one  day  the  world  must  look  to  her 
for  lumber;  if  the  negroes  could  be  made  into  practical 
workmen,  an  enterprising  white  man  could  make  millions 
out  of  her  forests." 

Huntingdon  knew  that  Longworthy  spoke  from  actual 
experience  and  he  was  eager  to  hear  him  expound  his 
ideas  how  best  the  timber  could  be  worked,  but  such 
complete  lassitude  suddenly  possessed  him  and  so  blind 
ing  were  the  sun-baked  streets  after  the  sea's  undulating 
surface,  that  it  was  all  he  could  do  to  keep  his  eyes  open 
and  remain  upright.  In  positive  agony  he  followed  his 
friends,  until,  no  longer  able  to  endure,  he  cried : 

"  I  say,  don't  you  chaps  mind  this  infernal  heat?  " 

"  Of  course  we  do,"  answered  Haywood.  "  But 
there's  no  use  growling  about  it.  What's  that  quota 
tion  :  Lead  on,  0  'Zeus,  where  thou  wilt.  If  follow  I 
must,  Vd  rather  go  smiling  and  free,  than  spuling  and 
in  chains." 

For  several  seconds  Huntingdon  gazed  in  silence  upon 
Haywood,  then  he  asked  solemnly :  "  Doesn't  it  hurt, 
old  chap,  to  spout  classics  in  the  tropics  at  this  hour  in 
this  infernal  heat?  " 

Before  Haywood  could  reply,  Longworthy  ejaculated: 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  27 

"  Was  that  classics?  I  thought  it  was  Marie  Cor- 
relli,"  and  pulling  off  his  limp  collar  and  removing  his 
coat,  he  threw  them  to  a  passing  boy  l  and  led  the  way 
to  the  club. 

Morrison  immediately  joined  them.  He  was  a  fussy 
little  Englishman  in  whites  with  a  broad,  red  silk  cum- 
merband  wound  about  his  thin  hips. 

"  I've  got  some  baggage  for  you,  Captain  Haywood. 
Yorubas  — : 

"  Softly,  softly,  Morrison.  We've  got  to  first  intro 
duce  Mr.  Huntingdon  to  the  club,  hence  the  coast,  then 
he's  one  of  us." 

"  First  time  out,  Mr.  Huntingdon  ?  "  demanded  Mor 
rison. 

"  Cut  your  fool  questions,"  growled  Longworthy. 
"  Does  he  look  like  a  vet?  " 

"  Never  can  tell,  never  can  tell,"  gurgled  Morrison, 
fussily,  wriggling  in  his  seat  and  drumming  on  the  table 
with  his  fingers. 

"  For  Christ's  sake,"  yelled  Longworthy,  "  get  away 
from  me  with  your  rotten  frazzled  nerves.  You'll  have 
mine  going  next  and  destroy  all  the  good  I  ought  to  have 
from  my  respite  in  Europe." 

"  Hang  on  to  your  temper,  brother  Longworthy,  and 
your  nerves'll  take  care  of  themselves,"  admonished 
Haywood. 

Longworthy's  temper  let  go. 

"  People  in  glass  houses  oughtn't  to  hurl  rocks." 

"  My  nerves  ain't  on  edge !  " 

"  The  hell  they  ain't !  " 

"  If  I  didn't  know  you  for  an  otherwise  decent  chap, 
Longworthy,  I  —  I'd  box  — 
i  Servant  of  any  age. 


28  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

"  The  man  ain't  born  who  can  lick  me  — 

"  Gentlemen,  gentlemen,"  soothed  Morrison,  "  here's 
to  the  only  land  on  earth :  Merrie  England,  and  to  our 
King  and  Queen,  God  bless  them." 

Helmets  were  off,  men  were  on  their  feet,  and  argu 
ment  was  forgotten.  Conversation  was  of  England  and 
the  wagging  of  the  world  in  civilized  countries,  when 
Haywood  whispered  to  Morrison : 

"  Lead  us  to  the  mammies." 

In  a  brick  bungalow,  surrounded  by  a  wide  veranda 
and  reached  by  a  long  flight  of  wooden  steps,  Morrison 
brought  forth  the  Yorubas.  They  were  full-grown 
negresses,  with  slow-moving  amorous  eyes,  sensuous 
mouths  and  gleaming  white  teeth. 

The  prettier  of  the  two  ran  to  Huntingdon  and  tried 
to  take  his  hand,  but  Haywood  turned  the  girl  about, 
minutely  examined  her,  then  commanded : 

"  Get  down  to  the  Nigeria  on  time.  No  didoing. 
Look  the  other  one  over,  Longworthy." 

"  Oh,  she's  all  right,"  expostulated  Morrison.  "  Col- 
lingwood's  guarantee  for  both." 

"  Yes,  but  how  long  is  it  since  Collingwood  sailed  and 
who  has  had  the  mammies  since  then?  An  ounce  of  in 
spection's  worth  a  hogshead  of  trouble,"  growled  Long- 
worthy,  examining  the  girl. 

"  You  don't  suspect  me!  "  cried  Morrison. 

"  Never  can  tell,  never  can  tell,"  and  Longworthy 
mimicked  Morrison's  tones  and  words  at  the  club. 

"  You're  all  right,"  finally  agreed  Longworthy. 
"  Get  down  to  the  Nigeria  on  time  and  see  that  you 
don't  get  lost  on  the  way,  savvy?  "  and  he  pinched  the 
girl's  arm  none  too  gently. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  29 

"  I  say,  Mr.  Huntingdon,"  cut  in  Morrison,  eagerly. 
"  I  can  get  you  a  Timene.  New  to  white  man,  but  such 
a  beauty  she's  worth  the  training." 

"  Thanks,  Morrison,  I'll  nose  about  for  myself." 

"  Sec  that  you  nose  sure,"  retorted  Longworthy, 
acridly.  "  Even  an  old  coaster's  often  fooled." 

Huntingdon  leisurely  turned  and  examined  the  cheap 
prints  on  the  rough,  wooden  walls ;  then,  slowly,  he 
sauntered  to  the  verandah. 

"  He's  a  bit  squeamish,  eh?  "  remarked  Morrison. 

"  Oh,  he'll  work  out  of  it,"  answered  Haywood. 

"  The  quicker,  the  better  for  him,"  growled  Long- 
worthy. 

Haywood  followed  Huntingdon  to  the  verandah,  and, 
placing  his  hand  on  Huntingdon's  shoulder,  he  said, 
affectionately : 

"  This  mammy  palaver,  it's  a  serious  thing,  my  boy. 
The  best  guarantee  is  the  wife-that-was  of  an  English 
man  gone  home  —  even  that's  not  sure.  My  young 
Yoruba's  taken  with  you.  You  can  have  her.  The 
sooner  you  load  up  the  better  for  you ;  it's  the  custom 
of  the  country." 

"  Thanks,  old  chap,  but  I  won't  load  up  —  just  yet. 
No  offense,  I  hope?  " 

"  It's  your  funeral,"  and  Haywood  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  dismissing  the  subject.  "  I'm  due  at  the  bar 
racks  on  Tower  Hill.  Come  along  and  see  our  West 
Indian  regiments.  Finest  in  the  land.  We  recruit  our 
Colonial  troops  here,  you  know." 

But  Huntingdon  was  too  fatigued  for  further  exer 
tion.  It  was  all  he  could  do  to  get  to  the  beach,  and 
take  canoe  for  the  Nigeria.  Thoroughly  spent,  he  sank 


30  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

into  his  long  steamer  chair  and  fell  into  a  dose,  from 
which  he  was  awakened  by  the  soft,  musical  laughter  of 
women,  and  a  grunt  of  disapproval  from  old  Wallace 
stretched  in  a  chair  beside  him. 

The  laughter  came  from  the  Yorubas,  who  were  cross 
ing  the  deck.  The  brilliant  sunlight  brought  out  their, 
grace,  their  symmetry,  their  youth,  their  picturesque 
ensemble.  Their  feet,  arms  and  neck  were  bare  and 
their  polished  skin  shone  like  rich  ebony,  while  draped 
over  a  short,  striped  petticoat  and  brought  up  under  the 
arms,  across  the  breasts,  was  a  cloth  of  fine  texture  whose 
bright  hues  effectively  set  off  slender  throats,  swelling 
bosoms  and  tapering  arms  and  whose  clinging  quality 
outlined  forms  sylph-like,  sinuous  and  tempting.  Their 
heads  were  swathed  in  fascinating  silken  kerchiefs  and 
they  walked  with  superb  poise  and  grace.  But  for 
Huntingdon  the  artistic  effect  was  spoiled  because  of 
the  cheap  European  beads  and  bracelets  and  the  nauseat 
ing  odor  of  trade  scent. 

Just  a  few  feet  from  the  white  men,  the  Yorubas 
stopped,  and,  affecting  an  earnest  conversation,  they 
shot  sly  glances  at  the  white  men,  and  coquettishly  ar 
ranged  their  necklaces  and  bracelets. 

"  I  thought  you'd  attract  the  baggage,"  sneered  Wal 
lace.  "  Women  are  all  alike  - —  snares  to  bag  men,  and 
we're  fool  enough  to  run  into  the  net.  I  doubt  if  the 
oldest  of  those  girls  is  sixteen,  yet  they're  as  wise  as  owls, 
and  they  remind  me  of  royal  pythons ;  slow-moving, 
languid,  gorgeously  rigged  out,  and  apparently  harmless, 
but  once  in  their  toils,  the  very  sap  of  life  is  squeezed 
out  of  ye!  Steer  clear  of  them,  me  boy,  steer  clear 
But  can  ye,  that's  the  palaver;  can  ye?  " 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  31 

"  Africa  certainly  breathes  sex,  Mr.  Wallace." 

"  Smellin'  calico's  man's  general  pastime  —  if  it  ain't, 
then  he  ain't  normal  —  or  else  there  ain't  no  petticoats 
floating  about.  How  many  of  us  are  true  to  our  women? 
So  bally  few  you  can't  find  'em.  Where  are  the  white 
men  now?  Off  shore,  mammy- palavering.  No,  sir,  you 
can  hide  it  all  you've  a  mind  to,  but  all  men  think  about 
is  women.  D'ye  reckon  it's  the  climate  and  spirits  alone 
that  sends  men  off  their  nuts  out  here?  Not  by  a  long 
shot;  it's  mostly  wenches.  Here  comes  another  piece 
of  baggage  —  the  three  o'  'em's  been  sent  aboard  for 
somebody's  use." 

A  very  young  girl  joined  the  Yorubas.  She  was  of 
the  Jakri  tribe,  and  her  slight,  graceful,  childish  figure 
was  seductively  outlined  by  a  single  piece  of  rich,  red, 
soft  cloth,  drawn  tight  across  her  gently  swelling 
bosoms.  Her  coloring  was  rich  copper,  and  her  face 
was  unusually  piquant  for  a  native's. 

"  She's  not  more'n  thirteen,"  went  on  Wallace,  disgust 
lilting  through  his  tones,  "  and  she'll  keep  thin,  ornery 
like  that  'till  she's  twenty,  then  she'll  commence  to  get 
fat.  At  twenty -five  she'll  be  ugly  fat,  and  at  thirty- 
five  she'll  be  an  old  hag,  but  she'll  be  that  sooner  if  she 
bears  pickins.  Then  in  her  old  age  she'll  return  to  her 
native  town  and  live  on  the  fame  that's  hers  because  she 
was  wife  to  a  white  man.  Say  what  you  will,  Mr. 
Huntingdon,  mammy  palaver  moves  the  world,  it's  meat 
and  drink  to  us.  When  we're  sold,  Ave  damn  the  women ; 
when  they're  sold,  they  damn  us.  So  it  goes  on,  attrac 
tion  and  repulsion,  so-called  love  and  hate  —  eternal  re 
petition." 

"  You're  quite  right,"  agreed  Huntingdon,  filling  his 


32  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

pipe,  lighting  it,  then  handing  the  tobacco  pouch  to  the 
old  coaster.  Wallace  helped  himself  and  through  puffs 
of  smoke  he  said  a  bit  sadly : 

"  Fellers  feel  more  equal  when  tobacco's  a-burninV 

It  was  the  first  time  the  old  man  had  ever  acknowl 
edged  Huntingdon's  superior  caste,  and,  ignoring  the 
implication,  Huntingdon  said  hastily : 

"  Men  must  have  their  fling  —  an  affair  now  and  then 
puts  some  sauce  into  life.  Who'd  be  an  anchorite?  " 

"  Wise  men,  out  here,"  laconically  replied  Wallace. 

The  men  smoked  for  some  time  in  silence,  then  the  old 
coaster  continued: 

"  I  hear,  Mr.  Huntingdon,  that  you're  affianced  to  a 
bonny  lady  at  home.  It's  the  divvil's  own  time  ye'll  have 
out  here  to  be  true  to  her,  and,  if  ye'll  take  the  advice  of 
an  old  rake  who's  been  ruined  by  black  wenches,  ye'll 
leave  them  severely  alone.  Me  wife  and  kiddies  got 
wind  of  me  mammy-palaverin'  out  here  and  for  twenty- 
odd  years  they've  never  recognized  me.  I  went  home 
this  time  solely  to  make  peace  but  me  woman's  one  of 
them  critters  who  never  could  overlook  a  nigger  wench, 
—  or  any  other  sort ;  no,  sir,  I'm  done  for  —  "  the  old  fel 
low  sighed,  then  he  continued  in  his  customary  reckless 
spirit,  "  The  natives  know  the  value  of  their  women  and 
they  play  upon  all  that  is  ornriest  in  us  and  we've  got  to 
pay  the  piper.  More  fools  us.  Look  at  them  *  *  * 
over  there,"  and,  raising  his  voice  he  yelled  at  the  women  : 
"  Get  below  where  ye  belong  or  I'll  kick  you  into  the 
sea." 

The  women  turned  abruptly  and  upset  an  old  Hausa 
merchant,  picturesque  in  turban  and  burnouse  and  hung 
with  decorated  leathers  which  he  was  about  to  offer  to 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  33 

the  white  men.  Laughing  at  the  old  Mohammedan's 
discomfiture,  the  women  balanced  themselves  lightly 
upon  the  companion  ladder,  then  disappeared  below  just 
as  Skipper  Hains'  stentorian  tones  sang  out : 

"  I  say,  Mr.  Wallace,  why  don't  you  bring  Mr.  Hunt 
ingdon  for'ard  here  to  watch  the  deckers  come  off? 
He'll  see  more  native  life  right  here  than  in  all  his  tramp 
about  Freetown  and  without  the  fatigue  of  exertion  and 
danger  from  sun-stroke." 

On  the  foredeck,  seething  with  cinematographic  bril 
liance  beneath  the  blinding,  arid  sun,  was  a  panorama  of 
activity  and  warring  colors,  of  ornate  clothing  and  of 
bush  nudity  that  held  Huntingdon  enthralled.  It  was 
the  excitement  of  a  general  exodus,  amidst  a  babel  of 
tongues,  as  family  after  family  poured  over  the  Nigeria's 
sides,  scrambling  for  places,  while  others  were  crowding 
the  ladders  and  still  others  waited  below  in  lighters  for  a 
chance  to  board  the  ship.  Fat  mammies  bundled  to 
the  very  eyes  in  European  clothing  and  burdened  with 
enormous  packs  and  babies  climbed  awkwardly  over  the 
bulwarks,  while  the  scantily  draped,  slender  bush-woman, 
pipe  in  mouth,  load  balanced  lightly  on  head  and  a  bab}r 
slung  securely  from  her  shoulder  in  a  strip  of  animal's 
hide,  followed  nimbly  after,  and,  with  eager,  alert  eyes, 
sought  out  the  best  place  for  the  encampment  of  her 
family  during  the  long  voyage  down  the  coast.  Alterca 
tions  were  many  and  heated  as  women  fought  for  posi 
tions  ;  babies  cried  lustily  as  their  tender  noses  and 
toes  were  jammed  and  bruised;  children  clothed  princi 
pally  in  beads  and  ju-ju  charms  clung  to  their  mother's 
limbs,  wide-eyed,  yet  calm ;  while  men  swaggered  about 


34  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

unencumbered  and  free,  for  it  was  the  East  where 
women  are  as  mud  beneath  the  feet  of  their  masters  and 
slaves  to  their  whims. 

Conspicuous  were  a  group  of  Mohammedans  return 
ing  from  a  pilgrimage  to  Mecca.  The  men  were  tall, 
gaunt,  lean,  and  black  as  the  shades  of  night,  with  green 
turbans  on  their  heads  and  their  bodies  fascinatingly 
swathed  in  voluminous  white.  Their  feet  were  thrust 
into  huge  goat-skin  sandals  and  across  their  shoulders 
were  slung  small  leathern  cases  containing  a  line  from 
El  Koran.  Behind  them  trailed  awkward  human  bundles 
enveloped  in  white.  They  sought  out  the  starboard 
deck,  which  was  less  crowded  because  it  contained  no 
shade.  One  by  one  they  sank  on  the  deck,  the  bundles 
cast  aside  their  ghost-like  wrappings  and  revealed  were 
fat,  ugly,  repulsive  negresses,  several  of  whom  suckled 
infants,  while  a  little  girl  of  perhaps  two  years  of  age 
leaped  from  her  mother's  arms  and  toddled  about,  bump 
ing  into  others  and  laughing  gleefully.  She  was  per 
fectly  formed  and  about  her  neck,  wrists,  waist  and 
ankles  were  pale  blue  beads  which  contrasted  beautifully 
with  her  ebony  skin.  Again  the  artist  in  Huntingdon 
was  aroused  and  he  longed  to  possess  her,  but,  like 
mother,  like  daughter,  he  reflected,  and  he  contented 
himself  with  watching  the  child's  graceful  movements 
while  old  Wallace  remarked: 

"  Mohammedanism's  the  religion  for  these  negroes  be 
cause  it  permits  what  they've  always  enjoyed:  plurality 
of  wives,  and  it  takes  from  them  their  greatest  vice,  get- 
tin'  drunk.  One  sober  nigger  is  worth  a  whole  raft  of 
drunken  so-called  Christian  niggers.  Anyhow,  it  ain't 
no  place  to  send  white  women  out  here  to  teach  God- 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  35 

palaver  to  a  lot  of  heathen  who  don't  want  to  be  taught, 
who  don't  want  to  and  won't  change  their  ways  and 
who  were  a  bally  sight  better  off  before  they  were  taught 
the  difference  between  right  and  wrong.  These  savages 
are  Mwmoral,  they  ain't  immoral,  until  Christian  mis 
sionaries  get  after  them  and  make  hypocrites  and  liars 
out  o'  them.  I  haven't  lived  thirty  years  out  here  for 
nothin'  and  I  tell  you  a  nigger's  a  nigger  and  he'll  always 
remain  one.  You  savvy  don't  you,  that  them  freaks 
of  women  and  little  girls  in  mother-hubbards  and  them 
boys  in  little  shirts  over  cloths  and  those  men  mostly 
in  night  shirts  are  rigged  out  like  that  by  the  mission 
aries?  Look  at  that  specimen  over  there,"  and  the  old 
coaster  pointed  out  a  boy  of  perhaps  fourteen  wearing 
a  much-too-small  calico  shirt  ending  just  above  a  pot 
belly  with  an  abnormal  navel  and  a  much-too-long  cloth 
which  prevented  his  taking  a  step  without  holding  it 
up.  "  Ain't  he  the  ornriest-looking  freak  you  ever  saw 
compared  with  those  bush-boys  clothed  only  in  a 
girdle?  " 

"  The  bush-boy  certainly  looks  more  natural,"  Hunt 
ingdon  agreed. 

"  Might  as  well  buy  sealskin  sacques  for  a  polar  bear 
as  send  clothing  to  these  heathen  —  one  needs  'em  about 
as  much  as  t'other.  If  you  was  down  there  you'd  smell 
the  stink  of  them  dressed-up  niggers,"  and  the  old 
coaster  fairly  spat  disgust.  "  I  can  spin  you  tales,  and 
true  ones  too,  about  missionaries  that  would  make  your 
head  swim  — 

"  Please,  Mr.  Wallace,"  interrupted  Huntingdon,  in 
whom  the  Anglican  faith  was  strong,  "  leave  me  some  of 
the  beliefs  in  which  I've  been  brought  up." 


36 

"  Ah,  me  boy,  you've  left  civilization  and  Christianity 
far  behind  and  you'll  learn  more  in  one  month  about  the 
folly  of  attempting  them  here  than  you'd  glean  in  a 
lifetime  from  the  readin'  of  books  and  the  mouthin's 
of  sky-pilots.  You  can't  make  anything  but  a  nigger 
out  of  a  nigger  and  you  can't  change  their  centuries 
of  superstitions  and  habits  over  night  —  and  that's  what 
the  missionaries  are  trying  to  do.  And  the  result? 
Making  hypocrites,  liars  and  conscious  sinners  where  be 
fore  only  naturalness  existed.  If  that's  religion,  then 
sky-pilots  had  better  rest  at  home.  Look  at  the  niggers 
down  there,  a  lot  of  beasts  snarlin'  for  lairs,  and  then 
cast  your  eyes  upon  them  Mohammedans.  The  latter's 
mindin'  their  own  business  and  stickin'  to  theirselves. 
Poor  though  them  beggars  are,  they  think  they'll  ne'er 
see  Mahomet's  Paradise  unless  at  least  once  in  their  life 
time  they  make  the  journey  to  Mahomet's  grave,  and  so 
they  scringe  and  screw  and  when  they've  got  enough 
together  to  pay  their  way,  off  with  their  wimmin  and 
their  pickins  they  start.  It  takes  them  months,  some 
times  years  to  trek  it,  but  years  ner  distance  don't  count 
with  them ;  they  live  only  to  die,  and  they  thrive  on 
what  would  starve  a  fasting  monk  as  on  they  trek  to 
Mecca.  Repeatedly  they  run  afowl  of  roving  Arabs 
and  Berbers  and  are  robbed  of  their  little,  but  other  and 
more  fortunate  pilgrims  help  them  out,  for  charity,  you 
savvy,  is  one  of  their  greatest  virtues.  There  was  a  sky- 
pilot  on  the  voyage  going  home  with  me  last  time  who 
was  so  ignorant  and  bigotted  that  he  wouldn't  even 
acknowledge  that  there  could  be  any  virtues  at  all  in  a 
Mohammedan.  To  him  Mohammedans  and  savages  are 
alike :  both  heathen.  And  one  time  when  I  called  to  pay 


S7 

my  respects  to  an  English  mission  lady  up  on  the  Niger, 
there  was  a  sewin'  class  goin'  on  and  standin'  off  wist 
fully  lookin'  on  wit'  a  child  tuggin'  at  her  breasts  was  a 
young  woman  who  was  actually  sufferin'  to  join  the 
others,  but  the  English  lady  would  have  none  o'  her  *  be 
cause  '  says  the  mission  lady  '  she's  a  Magdalene.'  Sez 
I, '  D'ye  come  out  fer  to  save  sinners  or  saints?  '  Sez  the 
lady,  '  She's  a  common  person,  a  huzzy.'  Sez  I,  '  An' 
what's  the  others  ?'  '  Proper  wives,' sez  the  lady.  'Oh, 
they  are,'  sez  I ;  '  well  I'll  be  tellin'  your  Saintship  that 
all  them  women  belong  to  one  man  and  in  his  town  last 
night  that  one  there  a-teachin'  the  others  was  offered 
to  me  for  six  pence  —  Ah,  ye  needn't  be  blushin'  and 
turnin'  yer  head,'  sez  I ;  '  and  ye  can't  make  fish  o'  one 
and  fowl  o'  the  other  when  old  Wallace  is  by,'  and  that 
night  I  walked  back  to  the  town  of  the  old  chief's  to 
settle  the  palaver  in  me  own  mind  why  one  should  be 
called  a  Magdalene  and  the  others  classed  as  saints.  And 
what  d'ye  think  I  found  —  the  Magdalene  was  a  Mag 
dalene  because  a  man  who  had  bought  her  as  his  wife 
didn't  pay  for  her  in  full  and  her  father  took  her  from 
him  and  sold  her  to  a  man  who  offered  to  pay  a  little 
more  for  her,  but  that  skunk  also  defaulted  and  the 
poor  girl  was  sold  to  a  dried-up  ape  old  enough  to  be 
her  father.  Now  it's  known  how  many  marriages  this 
girl's  made,  but  there's  no  way  o'  tellin'  how  much  mixin' 
up  the  other  lot's  done,  owned  as  they  are  by  an  onery 
old  beast  who  lives  off  the  wages  of  the  bodies  of  his 
women.  And  that  selfsame  night  back  to  their  native 
town  comes  the  missiongirls,  and  with  the  Magdalene 
they  were  all  up  to  their  dirty,  bush  tricks.  Now  what 
have  ye  got  to  say  to  that?  " 


38  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Huntingdon  made  no  answer,  and,  after  a  time,  the 
old  coaster  remarked,  apropos  of  the  Mohammedan 
women : 

"  Did  ye  ever  in  all  your  life  see  such  ugly,  stinldn' 
women!  If  they're  the  sort  in  Mahomet's  heaven,  then 
every  Mohammedan  ought  to  turn  Christian." 

The  old  coaster  chortled  at  his  own  joke,  then,  re 
senting  Huntingdon's  continued  silence,  muttering  to 
himself  he  wandered  away. 

Huntingdon  had  forgotten  Wallace  nor  did  he  hear 
his  rambling,  drawling  narrative.  He  was  completely 
absorbed  in  the  Mohammedans.  He  admired  their  poise, 
their  indifference.  The  pitiless  sun  beat  down  upon  them 
with  all  its  relentless  ardor,  but  they  heeded  it  not ;  their 
eyes  roamed  seaward  over  the  water's  blinding  surface 
indifferent  to  its  glare ;  noises  vibrated  about  them,  but 
they  heard  them  not !  Motionless  as  milestones  of  Fate 
they  remained  tranquil  and  unmoved  amidst  the  life  and 
unrest  of  the  present.  What  perfect  detachment:  to 
ignore  the  present,  to  dream  always  and  only  of  the  fu 
ture:  Mahomet's  heaven  with  its  principal  delights  the 
houris!  The  East  enthralled  Huntingdon ;  her  languor, 
her  fanaticism  permeated  his  very  arteries  while  imagina 
tion's  wings  flew  with  him  to  the  swift-flowing,  sacred 
Nile  on  whose  bosom  lazily  float  broad  khiassas,  laden 
with  bersim,  and  -feluccas,  bearing  natives  and  donkey- 
boys;  where  blue-robed  women  fill  their  goolahs;  where 
the  faithful  perform  their  ablutions,  then,  their  sandals 
laid  aside,  kneel  on  the  banks,  and,  with  their  faces  to 
wards  Mecca,  pray  to  the  One  and  Only  God;  where  a 
gang  of  conscripts,  chained  ankle  to  ankle  on  their  way  to 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  39 

the  river  are  silent  and  indifferent  to  their  fate  as  is  the 
way  of  the  True  Believer! 

Then  in  memory's  train  came  Cairo  with  its  myriad 
nameless  mosques  and  minarets;  its  houses  of  white 
stone  and  plaster,  with  flat  roofs  fashioned  into  gardens 
and  promenades ;  its  narrow,  noisy  bazars  with  their 
little  mushrabieh  panels,  from  behind  which  peep  out 
women  of  the  East,  clothed  as  the  East  in  barbaric 
splendor,  as  merchants  haggle  over  antichi  with  gullible 
tourists  from  the  new  West ! 

Colossal,  awe-inspiring  loom  the  pyramids  of  Gizeh 
and  Sakkara,  tombs  of  mighty  rulers  returned  to  the 
dust  from  whence  they  sprung,  and  the  Sphinx  of 
Ephesus,  inscrutable,  disdainful  and  sarcastic,  taunts 
the  present  with  its  secrets  and  defies  time  to  decipher 
them !  The  Sphinx,  fitting  symbol  of  Egypt's  peoples, 
transcendentally  alluring  and  romantic  and  mysterious 
with  a  thousand  incomputable  yesterdays ;  the  riddle  of 
the  past,  the  wonder  of  the  present,  the  defier  of  the 
future,  and  withal  a  true  Moslem :  fatalistic  and  silent. 
Time  has  gone  and  time  may  come,  but  the  Sphinx  turns 
the  same  scarred  countenance  to  human  gaze,  indifferent 
to  the  thoughts  of  men ;  indifferent  to  Time's  assaults ; 
inexorable  as  Fate  itself;  a  monument  of  permanence 
amidst  constant  change! 

How  hot  and  waste  and  still  lies  the  Sahara,  a  vast 
sea  of  opalescent  sand,  beneath  the  scorching,  blasting 
sun  and  the  invading  khamsin,  and  now  and  then  in  the 
vast  expanse,  stretching  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  miles, 
is  an  oasis  as  a  gem  in  a  cloth  of  faded  gold.  To  it, 
across  paths  familiar  to  the  feet  of  untold  centuries 


40 

come :  caravans  of  awkward  camels,  their  eyes  inquisitive 
and  restless  in  their  small  heads,  their  ever-moving  jaws 
chewing  the  cud  of  knowledge  of  Moslem  and  her  peo 
ples  ;  Berbers  and  Arabs  riding  like  the  winds,  their 
swathed  bodies  one  with  their  noble  white  steeds ;  sais 
plodding  patiently  beside  laden  donkeys  ;  pilgrims  a-f  oot, 
weary  and  thirsty !  For  cool  and  restful  is  the  shade  of 
the  date  palms,  nourishing  is  their  sweet  nut,  and  re 
freshing  is  the  water! 

'Tis  early  morn  at  Assiout  and  Abyssinian  slaves  are 
being  sold  in  the  market  place;  their  supple,  smooth, 
rounded  youth  and  big,  open,  wondering  eyes,  contrast 
ing  sympathetically  with  the  shriveled  skin  and  piercing, 
crafty,  half-closed  eyes  of  the  aged  Arabian  slave- 
dealers. 

'Tis  high  noon,  all  nature  rests  and  the  pitiless  sun 
reigns  supreme. 

Gorgeous  is  the  sunset  o'er  the  Mokkattan  Hills ; 
plaintive  is  the  evening  sky ;  mysterious  is  submerged 
Philae  under  a  brilliant  moon;  majestic  and  silent  is 
Pharaoh's  Bed  at  Assouan. 

'Tis  night !  Dingy  cafes,  thick  with  the  tobaccos  of 
the  east,  breathe  assignations,  lust  and  crime.  Coffee  is 
thick  and  perfumed  with  ambergris;  drugs  are  many  and 
stupefying;  and  Orientals  and  Occidentals  are  fasci 
nated  unto  helplessness  by  the  lure  of  it  all ! 

Oh,  Egypt,  the  sorceress,  the  betrayer,  the  seducer, 
the  enchantress ! 

Oh,  Ramadam,  the  fast  by  day ;  the  hours  of  lazy 
dreaming;  the  sunset  signal;  the  call  of  the  Muezzins; 
the  uncovering  of  millions  of  cooking  pots ;  the  escape 
of  their  tempting  odors  ;  the  night  of  gorging  and  feast- 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  41 

ing  and  orgy,  then  the  peep  of  day  from  out  Nile's 
sacred  bosom  when  all  True  Believers  turn  towards  the 
East  and  demand  pardon  for  their  sins  from  Allah,  the 
One  and  Only  God ! 

And  now  the  khamsin  is  blowing:  that  hot  wind  of 
Egypt  and  the  Soudan,  that  withers  and  parches  the 
skin  until  it  cracks  in  its  misery  ! 

Tribesmen  and  fierce  dervishers  bow  down  before  it. 

Allah  kerim.i 
Allahu  akbar.% 
La  ilaha  illa-llah.3 

Through  the  remembered  moan  of  wind  and  rush  of 
sand  o'er  Huntingdon's  sensitive  being  there  flowed  the 
plaintive  sing-song  of  the  river  workers : 

Turn,  O,  Sakkia,  turn  to  the  right  and  turn  to  the  left. 

The  Nile  floweth  by  night  and  the  balasses  are  filled  at  dawn; 

The  maid  of  the  village  shall  bear  to  thy  bed  the  dewy  gray  goolah 

at  dawn; 
Turn,  O,  Sakkia. 

Then  followed  the  weird  Alla-haly'm  alla-haly;  the 
monotonous  beat  of  darabukheh  and  the  brisk  music  of 
the  exciting  fantasias.  Ghawsees  sway  voluptuously  in 
the  Oriental  dance ;  their  reddened  eyelids,  fringed  with 
heavy  lashes  darkened  with  kohl,  languorly  open  and 
close,  permitting  fleeting  glimpses  of  eyes,  dark  and 
moist ;  tiny,  white  teeth  gleam  provokingly  through  car 
mine-tinted  lips ;  bracelets  clink  musically  on  rounded 
wrists  and  ankles,  swelling  bosoms  rise  and  fall  in  amor- 

1  God  is  bountiful. 

2  God  is  most  great. 

s  There  is  no  Deity  but  God. 


42  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

cms  rhythm  and  the  vermiculations  of  the  abdomen  grow 
wilder  and  wilder,  stealing  from  men  their  senses  and 
planting  therein  the  ardent  sting  of  desire ! 

Thus  in  Huntingdon's  brain  the  spiders  of  memory 
wove  an  intricate  design,  without  rhyme  or  continuity, 
of  Egypt,  Luxor,  Karnak ;  of  crooked,  winding,  filthy 
streets  ;  of  pariah  dogs ;  of  vermined,  ragged  beggars ; 
of  hapless  fellaheen;  of  minarets,  whole  citadels  of 
them;  of  kiosks;  of  temples;  of  Muezzins;  the  constant 
chanting  of  prayers,  of  petitions  and  the  perpetual 
thanksgiving  to  the  ever-present  and  terrifying  Prophet. 

Huntingdon  withered  beneath  the  scorn  of  the  white- 
clad,  silent  Mussulman,  for  him,  a  Nazarene  and  an  un 
believer!  He  recognized  what  an  insignificant  creature 
he  was,  viewed  from  the  aisles  of  their  great  antiquity ! 

La  ilalia  illa-llah! 

Conscription,  corvee,  death  are  received  with  a  shrug 
—  the  fatalistic  malaish  of  the  True  Believer.  All  is 
written,  it  must  come  to  pass ! 

The  Orient,  the  irresistible,  passion-begetting,  sense- 
disturbing  Orient!  Musty  as  Time  itself,  rotten  with 
disintegration  ;  putrid  and  decadent  with  the  offal  of  cen 
turies  and  peoples,  crimes  and  virtues,  lust  and  greed ! 
History  making,  history  destroying!  A  dust  heap  of 
debris,  a  monument  of  preserved  education !  A  riddle 
and  a  Paradox  !  An  assertion  and  a  denial ! 

Huntingdon  was  alone  on  the  upper  deck :  the  only 
white  man  who  felt  the  Call  of  the  East  and  succumbed 
to  its  witchery. 

A  sunset  gun  boomed  in  the  harbor  of  Freetown. 

Huntingdon  attuned  his  ear,  awaiting  the  Muezzin's 
call  to  prayer.  The  material  call  did  not  reach  him,  but, 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  43 

below,  every  Mussulman's  face  was  turned  towards 
Mecca.  Sandals  were  removed  and  chaplets  brought 
forth.  Solemnly,  silently,  now  rising  to  their  full 
height,  now  prostrate  on  the  deck,  indifferent  to  the 
jeers  of  men  and  the  mocking  laughter  of  women,  prayers 
were  silently  offered  to  Allah,  the  one  and  only  God. 

Him  the  Just,  the  Living,  the  Irresistible;  the  Great 
est  Giver;  the  Great  Provider;  the  One  who  opens  to 
truth  the  hardened  hearts  of  men;  the  Only,  the  Eternal, 
the  Immutable  One! 

There  is  no  other  God  but  God  and  Mahomet  is  His 
Prophet! 

Oh,  the  lure  of  Allah,  the  seduction  of  the  East ! 
Huntingdon  went  down  before  them  as  does  a  sand-heap 
before  the  onrushing  khamsin.  He  leaned  heavily 
against  the  ship's  railing,  his  head  dropped  on  his  arms 
and  drowsiness  o'ercame  him.  The  heat  of  Africa's 
sun  was  in  his  arteries,  over-exertion  tenanted  him.  He, 
hypercivilized  and  of  a  long  race  of  England's  noblest 
and  best  men,  was  but  a  sensitive  instrument,  high  pitched 
and  high  strung,  awaiting  a  player  to  bring  forth  the 
melody  of  laughter  or  the  wail  of  tears.  He  was  but  a 
puppet,  a  marionette  for  Africa,  the  inexorable,  to  do 
with  as  she  willed ! 

Near  the  horizon  line  in  the  west,  the  sun,  a  flaming 
disk  of  fire,  hung  low,  bathing  the  world  in  vivid  pink 
and  gold,  but  for  a  breath  of  time  only,  for,  like  a  heavy 
plummet  let  fall  by  a  hand  tired  of  holding  it,  it  was 
plunged  precipitously  downward.  Left  behind  were 
streamers  of  gorgeous  colors  which,  spreading  o'er  ex 
panse  of  water  and  sky,  quickly  dissolved  into  soft, 
amber  shades,  the  precursors  of  the  mystic  velvety  blue 


44  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

of  the  plaintive  African  night,  while  in  the  east  a  slen 
der  crescent  showed  the  moon  at  her  birth ! 

Suddenly  Huntingdon,  the  human  reed,  shivered  vio 
lently  in  the  chilled  breath  of  impersonal  night,  then  a 
harsh,  vibrant  call  rang  out  bringing  him  back  with  a 
jerk  to  the  present  and  the  mundane. 

It  was  the  half-hour  bugle  before  dinner.  Mechanic 
ally,  Huntingdon  went  below  to  dress. 

Boynton  gave  a  farewell  dinner  to  his  fellow  passen 
gers  and  to  his  cronies  from  Freetown.  It  was  a 
bandobust  which  would  give  him  something  agreeable 
to  think  about  in  his  lonely  bush  life.  What  mat 
tered  it  though  he  borrowed  money  with  which  to  pay 
for  wines  and  viands,  what  mattered  it  that  he  and  his 
merrymaking  companions  abetted  Africa  in  her  relent 
less  warfare  against  the  white  alien !  Men  wanted  to 
forget  the  hour,  the  place ;  reckless  was  their  abandon 
nor  thought  they  of  consequences.  The  orgy  oppressed 
Huntingdon.  He  wanted  to  be  alone,  in  the  night  with 
Africa  - —  alone  with  the  dreams  that  lilted  drowsily 
through  his  fever-touched  brain. 

On  the  upper  deck  he  gazed  listlessly  out  into  the 
night.  He  had  no  knowledge  of  how  long  he  sat  there, 
nor  of  his  thoughts.  He  knew  only  that  Captain  Hams' 
hand  was  on  his  shoulder  and  the  Irishman's  hearty  voice 
cried : 

"  It's  no  place  for  ye,  me  lad,  out  in  the  African  night. 
The  dews  bring  dysentery  and  death.  Come !  " 

In  the  skipper's  quarters  forward  electric  lights  beamed 
attractively  and  broad  low  divans  invited  relaxation  and 
repose.  On  one  of  them  Skipper  Hains  threw  himself, 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  45 

and,  motioning  Huntingdon  to  outstretch  on  another,  he 
ordered  champagne  with  plenty  of  ice,  and  growled: 

"  Land  on  shore's  a-simmering  like  a  mud  cake  in  a 
blast  furnace,  me  lad.  It's  glad  I  am  to  be  on  board 
again." 

He  appeared  not  to  notice  Huntingdon's  silence  nor 
the  languor  that  possessed  him,  but  he  gave  him  most 
of  the  wine,  which,  coupled  with  the  home-like  atmosphere 
of  the  skipper's  quarters,  brought  back  Marjorie  and 
England  to  Huntingdon  and  caused  him  to  demand 
abruptly : 

"  I  say,  Skipper,  d'you  believe  in  love?  " 

The  skipper's  blue  eyes  danced  merrily  and  delicious 
and  thick  was  his  brogue: 

"  Thot's  wan  av  thim  dom  fool  questions,  and  me  an 
Irishman  from  Belfast !  It's  all  the  gurrls  I  love,  so 
let's  drink  to  our  wimmin,  me  lad,  our  port  in  the  storms 
of  life,  our  compass  in  dangerous  channels  and  strange 
roadways  !  May  they  never  know  the  worst  of  us  and 
we  see  only  the  best  in  them.  Chin,  chin !  " 

Both  men  drained  their  glasses,  and  a  woman's  laugh 
floated  up  from  amongst  the  deckers. 

"  It's  lots  of  mammy-palaver  I've  seen,  me  lad,"  con 
fessed  Skipper  Hains,  his  serious  thoughts  driving  the 
brogue  from  his  speech.  "  There're  only  two  sorts  of 
women  in  the  world :  the  good  and  the  bad.  Even  the 
worst  old  rooster  that  comes  out  to  this  coast  respects  a 
good  woman,  but  as  to  the  other  sort  —  they  didn't  be 
come  so  by  themselves  and  I  won't  sling  mud  at  them. 
I'm  human  and  I  don't  expect  women  nor  men  to  be 
angels.  And  I'm  Irish  and  a  pair  o'  red  lips  are  mighty 


46  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

tempting,  but  these  long  coast  voyages  and  the  uncer 
tainty  of  life  keep  me  from  marrying  and  having  a  nest 
of  me  own,  but  sometimes  —  sometimes  —  '  and  the 
laughter  died  out  of  the  merry  blue  eyes  and  the  skipper 
never  finished  his  sentence. 

Huntingdon  sensed  the  skipper's  loneliness  and  was 
silent  with  him  and  in  that  silence  a  friendship  between 
the  two  men  was  born  that  was  to  endure  for  life. 

Six  bells  rang  out  and  the  skipper  sprang  to  his  feet, 
exclaiming : 

"  Bedtime,  me  lad.  I'm  Irish  and  I  need  all  the  sleep 
I  can  get.  After  to-night  and  for  the  next  ten  days 
it's  not  much  off  the  bridge  I'll  be.  We're  approaching 
the  most  treacherous  part  of  the  coast  and  it's  mother's 
sons  like  ye,  Irish  Hains  has  in  his  keeping.  Irish 
Hains  is  called  the  best  skipper  that  sails  this  coast  and 
he  must  live  up  to  his  reputation.  If  it  lies  in  his  power 
to  take  ye  safely  out  and  bring  ye  back  again,  he'll 
do  it,  for  neither  spirits  nor  wenches  nor  gambling  games 
can  seduce  him  from  his  post." 

Huntingdon  smiled. 

"  I  know,  me  lad,  it's  blarney  ye  think  I'm  giving  ye, 
but  it's  many  a  squadron  of  blue  divvils  Irish  Hains  has 
seen  retreat  under  full  sail  before  a  stiff  breeze  of 
blarney." 

As  Huntingdon's  slim,  white  clad  figure  disappeared 
down  the  companion  ladder,  Hains  called  out : 

"  And  if  thim  same  blue  divvils  come  after  ye,  seek 
out  Irish  Hains,  for  it's  not  lonesome  ye  need  to  be  on 
the  Nigeria,  and  don't  forget  to  be  after  taking  your 
daily  dose  of  quinine  in  the  morning." 

Huntingdon's   cabin  was  stifling  after  the   skipper's 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  47 

cool  quarters ;  the  air-chute  charmed  no  breeze  from  the 
humid  night,  but  it  brought  to  Huntingdon  the  gossip 
of  the  native  crewboys  who  attended  their  masters'  pleas 
ure.  Every  little  act  of  the  white  man  was  commented 
upon,  confidential  affairs  were  made  public  property. 

After  what  seemed  an  eternity,  Huntingdon  heard 
Boynton  take  leave  of  his  compagnons  de  voyage  and  the 
going  ashore  of  the  visitors  from  Sierre  Leone,  then  the 
gentle  wash  of  the  waters  against  the  Nigeria's  side  lulled 
him  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER  IV 

RELUCTANT  morning  crept  forth  from  a  thick  haze ; 
Sierra  Leone  sweltered  beneath  vaporous  clouds ;  not  a 
wind  stirred,  and  the  heavy,  moist  heat  continued. 

By  ten  o'clock  coaling  was  finished ;  hatches  were 
closed ;  surf  boats  hung  from  their  davits ;  crewboys 
took  their  place  among  the  deckers;  anchor  was  pulled, 
and  without  any  fuss,  the  Nigeria  was  off  on  the  long 
trail. 

Towards  noon,  the  fog  lifted,  but  the  dead  calm  con 
tinued  ;  higher  and  higher  climbed  the  thermometer ;  the 
heat  was  withering ;  the  glare  of  the  sun  blinding. 

A  stoker  looked  out  from  the  shade  of  the  fore  peak, 
his  pale,  thin,  nervous  face  contrasting  sharply  with  the 
full,  black,  stolid  faces  of  the  deckers,  who,  under  the 
pitiless  sun,  lay  in  all  attitudes  of  abandon.  It  was 
difficult  to  tell  where  one  family  began  and  the  other 
ended,  so  jumbled  together  were  they,  like  friendly 
cattle.  Some  slept ;  others  gazed  into  space ;  nobody 
talked ;  nobody  moved ;  the  East  knows  how  to  live  the 
East. 

Suddenly,  a  woman  threw  off  her  cotton  covering  and 
stretched  herself  flat  on  the  deck.  Towards  the  fiery 
heavens  her  face  was  turned.  A  spasm  of  acute  pain 
wrung  her  heavy  features  ;  perspiration  streamed  from 
her ;  she  dug  her  nails  into  the  deck ;  she  muttered  some 
low  words ;  those  nearest  her  drew  away,  giving  her  more 
room  —  and  —  then  her  child  was  born  ! 

48 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  49 

There  was  no  excitement ;  not  even  comment.  Her 
own  family  looked  on  indifferently  for  it  was  Africa 
where  women  are  numbered  with  the  beasts. 

The  mother  slept  the  sleep  of  exhaustion.  Event 
ually,  she  would  awake,  rub  the  infant  with  palm-oil, 
hang  ju-ju  charms  about  its  tender  neck,  and  suckle  it, 
as  beasts  suckle  their  young!  No  kiss,  no  caress  would 
be  its  joy  ;  no  wrapping  in  soft,  protecting  cloths  ;  no  re 
joicing,  no  christening;  no  comments  by  loving  relatives 
and  admiring  friends.  Unattended  it  came  into  the 
world,  unattended  it  would  pass  through  the  world,  un 
attended  it  would  leave  the  world.  Each  must  fight  his 
own  battle!  Woe  to  the  weakling  and  the  timid! 

Unlike  the  foredeck,  the  upper  deck  was  deserted.  It 
was  suicide  for  a  white  man  to  remain  thereon.  The 
main  deck  was  double-canvased  in  an  attempt  to  keep 
out  the  sun's  blinding  glare,  and  on  its  sunny  side  cooks' 
mates  and  galleyboys  passed  lazily  back  and  forth,  in 
differently  attending  to  their  duties. 

A  galleyboy,  clad  only  in  trousers,  bearing  a  tureen 
of  hot  soup  to  the  forecastle  hands,  was  bumped  into 
by  a  Sierre  Leonion  cretvboy.  The  dish  crashed  to  the 
deck ;  two  scalded,  frightened  men  glared  at  each  other, 
then  came  the  argument  in  pidgin  English.  Each  ac 
cused  the  other.  Blows  were  about  to  descend,  when 
the  Second  Officer  happened  by.  The  crewboy  was 
ordered  to  the  forward  deck  and  forbidden  to  leave  it. 
The  galleyboy  was  commanded  to  clean  the  deck. 

He  slouched  away,  only  to  slouch  back  again  carry 
ing  a  pail  and  a  mop.  Indifferently  and  indolently  he 
swabbed  the  deck,  then,  with  his  elbows  resting  on  the 
lower  rail,  he  gazed  steadfastly  at  the  strip  of  blinding 


50  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

silver  water  athwart  his  vision.  His  head  dropped  to 
the  scuttle  and  he  slept,  to  be  rudely  awakened  by  the 
vicious  kick  of  a  passing  deck  hand,  followed  by  the 
sardonic  laughter  of  a  big,  burly  negro  who  all  but  dozed 
over  his  task  of  polishing  brass  trimmings. 

The  galleyboy  growled  ominously,  murder  looked 
from  out  his  eyes,  deep  set  under  low  brows ;  sullenly  he 
slouched  aft  where  he  stopped  to  tell  his  troubles  to 
the  Sierre  Leone  washerman,  only  to  receive  another  kick 
for  his  pains ;  then  swearing  softly,  he  disappeared. 

To  the  washerman  all  clothing  looked  alike.  Coarse, 
much-soiled  flannels  were  commingled  with  fine,  fairly 
clean  white  linens.  The  work  was  bad,  but  it  was  the 
only  kind  available.  White  men  could  take  it  or  leave 
it;  they  took  it  with  a  curse  as  they  take  everything 
Africa  deals  out  to  them. 

Just  then  tenderfeet  were  experiencing  some  of  the 
phases  of  hell  the  old  coasters  had  pictured  to  them. 
Nor  were  the  old  coasters  exempt  from  suffering;  each 
and  every  man  was  absolutely  miserable,  as,  on  the 
shaded  side  of  the  main  deck,  they  lay  outstretched  on 
long  steamer  chairs,  unwashed  and  dishevelled.  Heads 
ached;  throats  were  parched;  eyeballs  burned;  nerves 
were  all  a-quiver;  odors  of  cooking  smote  sensitive 
nostrils,  and  nausea  hovered  over  men  theretofore 
strangers  to  it.  It  was  the  day  after  the  night  before 
and  that  night  had  been  a  strenuous  one.  No  man's 
temperature  was  normal;  movement  meant  a  deluge  of 
perspiration  and  there  was  but  one  desire:  to  remain 
inert  and  quaff  long,  cool  drinks. 

Very  few  went  below  to  luncheon  and  several  of  those 
got  but  a  whiff  of  the  dining-saloon  when  they  scrambled 


51 

back  to  their  deck  chairs.  Stewards  were  the  only  ones 
with  life  in  them,  and  they  served  drinks  eagerly  for 
they  knew  their  tips  would  be  large. 

With  the  going  down  of  the  sun,  a  slight  breeze  came 
up,  and  Huntingdon,  looking  for  diversion,  went  among 
the  deckers.  He  paused  in  amazement  before  the  newly- 
born  baby ;  never,  in  all  his  life  did  he  see  anything  like 
it:  the  tiny,  unclothed  atom  lay  on  its  mother's  breast, 
pink,  wrinkled  like  a  monkey  and  curled  up  like  one. 
His  sensitive,  refined  nature  revolted  at  its  treatment ;  he 
forgot  that  he  had  left  civilization  and  its  customs  far 
behind,  so  he  went  to  his  cabin  and  returned  with  soft, 
white  linen  and  a  rich,  woolen  shawl. 

Although  he  made  it  clear  that  the  gifts  were  for  the 
protection  of  the  baby,  the  mother  smiled  broadly ;  osten 
tatiously  she  wound  the  linen  about  her  head,  then  she 
arose,  and,  keenly  alive  to  the  sensations  of  envy  aroused 
in  her  less  fortunate  sisters,  she  slowly  draped  the 
magnificent  shawl  about  her  hips,  tucked  the  infant  in 
the  front  of  it  and  deliberately  walked  about. 

The  other  women  crowded  around  Huntingdon,  and, 
thrusting  their  children  at  him,  demanded  gifts  in  divers 
tongues. 

"  Back  away,  Mr.  Huntingdon,"  called  Skipper  Hains 
from  the  bridge.  "  It's  full  of  contagion  every  one  of 
them  is,  annyhow  they've  no  business  to  pester  ye." 

A  withered  negro,  dressed  in  a  ragged,  filthy  night 
shirt  and  a  disreputable  straw  hat,  complained  that  he 
was  sick  for  belly! 

"  Leave  him  to  me,  Mr.  Huntingdon,"  called  the  skip 
per.  "  I'll  be  after  putting  an  end  to  the  pestering  of 
ye,"  and,  whistling  gayly,  the  nimble  skipper  descended 


52  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

the  ladder,  sought  his  quarters  and  mixed  a  stiff  dose  of 
capsicum,  epsom  salts,  quinine  and  rot-gut! 

The  skipper's  whistle  gave  notice  that  he  was  up  to 
some  deviltry  and  white  men  came  to  life  and  crowded 
the  main  deck  forward. 

The  begging  negro  was  summoned.  Explaining  to 
his  brothers  the  honor  conferred  on  him,  with  great  dig 
nity  he  mounted  the  ladder,  and,  at  sight  of  the  drink 
awaiting  him,  his  face  cracked  into  minute  wrinkles  of 
pleasure,  he  rubbed  his  stomach  in  anticipated  delight, 
he  reached  out  a  hand  calloused  and  wrinkled  like  a 
gorilla's. 

The  e}res  of  the  white  and  the  black  men  were  full 
upon  him ;  the  former  waiting  the  amusement  sure  to  be 
afforded  them,  the  latter  in  envy. 

The  negro  took  one  swallow,  then  gagged. 

"  Down  with  it,  you  blue  spotted  Son  of  Ham,"  bel 
lowed  the  skipper,  his  blue  eyes  ablaze  with  laughter,  his 
arm  uplifted  as  though  he  would  strike  the  wretch. 

"  Down  with  it,"  yelled  old  Wallace,  while  other  men, 
both  white  and  black,  laughed  their  keen  delight. 

The  negro  reluctantly  drank  the  concoction,  his  eyes 
almost  bulging  from  his  head ;  his  Adam's  apple  working 
riotously  up  and  down  his  long,  shrivelled  neck ;  his 
black,  cracked  lips  puckered  tragically,  comically.  As 
the  fiery  liquid  ate  into  his  alimentary  canal,  he  drew  up 
his  shirt  and  with  both  hands  violently  rubbed  his 
stomach ;  he  stuck  out  his  long  tongue ;  he  opened  and 
closed  his  eyes  vigorously ;  from  one  foot  to  another  he 
hopped,  then,  doubled  almost  in  two,  he  started  for 
the  ladder.  Highly  amused  and  vociferously  express 
ing  that  amusement,  well-directed  kicks  from  the  white 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  53 

man  sent  the  negro  flying  down  the  ladder  to  the  fore- 
deck,  where  his  own  received  him  boisterously  and 
roughly.  Thus  did  pride  precede  a  humiliating  tumble, 
but  Huntingdon  was  never  again  bothered. 

The  next  day  the  Black  Republic  of  Liberia  was  left 
behind,  and,  as  the  Nigeria  slowly  continued  along 
Africa's  historic  coastline,  the  rollers  grew  longer  and 
higher  and  a  mirage  off  shore  and  the  extraordinary 
refraction  emphasized  all  the  more  the  miseries  of  the 
long  voyage.  Theretofore,  the  coast  had  been  indis 
tinct,  blurred,  and  Huntingdon's  romantic  mind  had  pic 
tured  it  mountainous  and  alluring  as  at  Sierra  Leone, 
but,  alas,  it  was  flat,  monotonous  and  low-lying ;  all  sea 
level.  Four  lines  of  color  paint  the  picture:  one,  long 
and  blue-gray,  for  the  sea ;  over  that  the  snow-white 
length  of  surf;  then  the  yellow  strip  of  sand  cut  off 
by  the  interminable  dark  green  border  of  the  vegetation 
from  out  of  which  stand  the  palms,  and  last  above  all 
the  line  of  the  sky's  blue. 

That  was  all  for  weary  eyes  to  look  upon  day  after 
day  and  league  after  long  league !  The  maddening 
monotony  and  sameness  of  it  all  ate  into  the  very  soul 
of  the  exiles,  and  made  snarling  beasts  of  them. 
Tempers  let  go,  quarrels  took  place  over  nothing ;  out 
rageous  slanders  were  concocted  and  spread ;  men,  who 
at  home  fled  the  house  at  mere  mention  of  Avash  da}r, 
for  whole  days  at  a  time  watched  the  washerman  at  his 
task,  fairly  dancing  with  demoniacal  glee  when  fine 
linens  came  forth  scorched  and  ruined ! 

Huntingdon  swore  at  the  condition  of  his  shirts,  he 
vowed  he  would  never  wear  them  again,  but  the  wise 
cabin  steward  tucked  them  away  in  Huntingdon's  kit 


54  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

and  there  came  a  day  when  Huntingdon  was  glad  to 
get  them.  At  night  gambling  was  again  indulged  in ; 
stakes  were  high,  playing  reckless.  Salaries  for  years 
ahead  were  anticipated ;  many  I.  O.  U's  were  issued. 

Food,  too,  was  monotonous,  tasteless  and  unappetising 
and  from  much  drink  and  little  exercise,  men  took  on 
flesh  rapidly.  Huntingdon  and  Haywood  resented  their 
growing  waist  lines,  but  Wallace  and  Longworthy  both 
ered  about  nothing  save  the  slow  passing  of  leaden-heeled 
time. 

At  last  Grand  Bassam  on  the  Ivory  Coast  was  sighted, 
and,  abreast  of  it  three  miles  off  shore,  the  Nigeria  cast 
anchor  in  a  confused  sea  resembling  breakers.  Plainly 
visible  in  the  offing  were  the  masts  of  a  sunken  steamer ; 
but  the  beach  was  hidden  behind  a  wall  of  high-leaping 
spray  and  the  angry  roar  of  the  surf  drowned  all  other 
sounds.  The  Nigeria  rocked  so  like  a  thing  of  cork 
that  the  mammy-chair  was  necessary  to  convey  pas 
sengers  to  the  surf  boats  waiting  to  receive  them.  The 
chair  is  a  huge  palm-oil  puncheon,  out  of  which  several 
staves  are  sawed  and  a  bottom  put  to  the  hole  as  a  seat. 
To  dangle  in  it  from  a  crane,  with  angry  seas  dancing 
far  beneath,  is  an  experience  dreaded  by  the  bravest. 

About  Hertford,  Kingsford  and  two  other  tender- 
feet  whose  destination  was  reached,  old  Wallace  croaked 
like  a  bird  of  evil  on  the  pleasures  of  the  descent  of 
the  mammy-chair;  the  treachery  of  the  seas ;  the  hunger 
of  the  watchful  sharks,  and  the  yellow  fever  of  a  partic 
ularly  virulent  type  prevalent  in  Grand  Bassam. 

Despite  the  terrors  awaiting  and  the  dangers  threaten 
ing  him,  Huntingdon  could  no  longer  endure  the  confine 
ment  of  the  ship.  He  must  have  change  even  though  it 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  55 

led  to  his  death.  Old  Wallace  did  his  best  to  dissuade 
him  from  seeking  that  surf-menaced,  dangerous  shore, 
but  Huntingdon  was  obdurate.  When  with  a  thud  the 
mammy-chair  dropped  to  the  deck,  he  was  the  first  one 
to  step  into  it. 

Hertford  and  two  other  tenderfeet  followed,  then 
came  the  braggart,  Kingsford,  taking  care  to  sandwich 
himself  securely  between  the  others. 

"  Good-by,  good  health  and  good  luck,"  had  been 
repeated  over  and  over  again,  and  Kingsford  had  just 
broken  forth  in  blustering  bravado : 

"  Now  to  show  these  old  croaks  that  we  ain't  the  jelly 
fish  they  think  us.  I  ain't  seen  anything  yet  that  can 
bowl  me  over.  Let  'er — ,"  when  with  a  sudden  jerk, 
up  and  out,  shot  the  mammy-chair. 

The  breath  left  Huntingdon's  lungs ;  his  eyes,  ter 
ror-widened,  gazed  down  upon  heaving  depths  and  bob 
bing  surf  boats,  oh,  so  far  away !  It  didn't  seem  pos 
sible  for  the  chair  to  connect  with  the  boats,  and  hungry 
blue  sharks  were  everywhere ! 

However,  he  clung  fast  to  the  chair  and  did  his  best 
to  retain  his  breakfast.  To  give  up  food  before  that 
jeering,  onlooking  crowd,  was  the  epitome  of  agony. 
Then,  as  if  the  crowd  were  waiting  for  that  very  thing, 
up  floated  Wallace's  command : 

"  Let  'er  go,  boys ;  don't  mind  us.  You'll  feel  better 
if  you  give  up ;  we're  here  to  be  amused ;  we  need  it ; 
we're  rotting  away  for  want  of  it;  don't  be  stingy,  give 
up!" 

A  stoker  from  the  fore-peak  shouted  sarcastically : 

"  Ah,  hold  on  t'  yer  guts,  you  coves !  Don't  enter 
Hell's  Playground  showin'  white  livers." 


56  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Young  Hertford,  up  in  the  air,  tortured  beyond  en 
durance,  essayed  to  jump  from  the  chair,  but  again  came 
the  stoker's  voice : 

"  Set  down,  you  fool,  or  you'll  never  git  a  chance  to 
set  down  again." 

A  white-clad,  white-faced  creature  wobbled  uncer 
tainly  and  began  to  wretch. 

It  was  Kingsford. 

Wallace  danced  with  glee  and  shouted : 

"Aha,  how's  the  jellyfish  now;  gwan,  give  up,  the 
sharks're  hungry  !  " 

All  this  time  a  black  man  stood  with  signalling  arm 
erect,  watching  for  the  surf  boat  to  come  up  on  the 
swell  and  ready  to  signal  the  man  at  the  donkey-winch 
when  the  proper  time  for  lowering  came  ! 

At  last  his  arm  dropped ! 

As  suddenly  as  the  chair  had  shot  up  and  out, 
abruptly  and  swiftly,  it  descended  as  a  thing  dragged 
down  by  relentless  fate.  Huntingdon's  very  vitals 
heaved  convulsively ;  then  there  were  a  collision,  a  dump 
ing  into  a  narrow,  unsteady  space,  a  jangle,  a  pull,  a 
shooting  upward  and  away  of  the  chair,  a  tossing,  pitch 
ing  surf  boat  and  white  men  half  dead  with  fright  and 
unmistakably  seasick  were  afloat  upon  an  undulating, 
blinding  sea,  huddled  on  the  thwarts  of  a  rudder  canoe 
between  two  banks  of  native  paddlers  perched  on  the 
gunwales  like  women  on  side-saddles  ! 

As  the  shore  was  approached,  the  roar  of  the  surf  in 
creased  in  volume  and  waves  fought  each  other  like 
angry  beasts,  sending  up  a  wall  of  spray  which  seemed 
impenetrable.  In  the  breakers,  contending,  unseen  forces 
seized  the  canoe  and  tried  to  tear  her  from  the  restrain- 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  57 

ing  hands  of  the  paddlers,  but  without  avail,  and  fright 
ened,  sea-drenched  white  men  crawled  on  the  backs  of 
negroes  and  were  landed  on  the  beach  out  of  harm's  way. 

Huntingdon  gazed  upon  the  Nigeria,  oh,  so  far  away, 
and  he  felt  suddenly  and  strangely  desolate !  He 
wanted  to  board  her  again,  and  at  once ;  he  had  no 
desire  for  exercise  or  to  explore  Grand  Bassam !  Sol 
emnly  he  took  leave  of  the  others ;  there  was  no  rancor 
then  between  him  and  Kingsford,  oh,  no !  Africa  was  a 
hard  life,  the  climate  deadly ;  it  was  certain  that  some, 
perhaps  all,  of  them  would  never  again  climb  a  ship's 
side  on  a  return  voyage !  Huntingdon  demanded  to  be 
at  once  taken  off  to  the  Nigeria. 

The  rudder  canoe  lay  well  up  in  the  sand  and  Hunt 
ingdon  recognized  at  once  that  to  launch  her  was  no 
easy  task.  He  wondered  how  the  Krus  and  the  Acer  as 
would  go  about  it. 

The  Kru  who  had  borne  him  to  shore,  again  took  him 
on  his  back  and  stowed  him  in  the  center  and  bottom  of 
the  canoe ;  then  paddlers  and  beachmen  ranged  them 
selves  on  either  side  of  the  canoe,  grasping  the  thwarts 
well  down,  ready  to  lift  the  boat  out  of  her  sand-dock  and 
shove  her  off  at  a  favorable  opportunity.  Hunting 
don  marveled  further  how  any  human  being  dare  enter 
those  breakers,  let  alone  attempt  to  land  and  take  away 
men  and  cargo !  He  knew  full  well  what  the  paddlers 
were  watching  and  waiting  for;  that  they  could  not  set 
forth  at  will,  they  must  await  the  inrolling  of  a  favor 
able  swell. 

Now  that  danger  was  at  hand,  fear  fled  from  the  white 
man  ;  he  watched  wave  after  wave  come  in  and  break  with 
deafening  noise  and  astounding  fury,  nor  did  he  mind 


58  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

the  spray  that  drenched  him.  He  was  a  sportsman, 
keen  for  the  fray !  It  was  human  ingenuity  versus  im 
personal  but  powerful  opponents.  The  rapidly  reced 
ing  sand  and  the  explosion  and  spray  revealed  the  tre 
mendous  force  of  the  undercurrents,  and  over  Hunting 
don  rushed  ardent  admiration  for  the  Portuguese,  who 
in  the  fourteenth  century  braved  that  coast  and  left 
their  traces  in  the  whitewashed  forts  and  little  dreary 
towns  that  now  and  then  break  the  weary  monotony  of 
the  horizon  line.  Huntingdon  recalled  how  European 
colonization  followed  the  trader,  and  he  paid  full  trib 
ute  to  those  early  men  —  pirates,  brigands  and  slave- 
dealers  though  they  were  —  who  had  the  courage  to 
defy  treacherous  seas,  hostile  natives  and  the  all-blasting 
sun ! 

A  favorable  swell  came  rolling  in.  The  Krus  took 
a  firmer  hold  on  the  thwarts  and  braced  themselves  for 
quick  action.  At  the  rudder  in  the  stern  stood  the  cox 
swain,  his  body  bent  forward,  his  eyes  narrowed  and 
set  like  a  vulture's  making  ready  for  sudden  descent 
upon  its  prey. 

On  and  on  came  the  roller,  growing  in  height  and  vol 
ume  !  The  eye  of  every  black  man  was  upon  it !  It  was 
a  canoe  length  away !  It  rushed  under  the  nose  of  the 
canoe !  The  canoe  was  mounting  its  ridge,  when  a  quick 
command  fell  from  the  lips  of  the  coxswain !  His  knees 
and  hands  gripped  the  tiller!  Beachmen  and  paddlers 
gave  a  mighty  shove !  The  canoe  was  afloat  on  the  ex 
pended  wave !  Simultaneously,  so  as  not  to  overbalance 
the  boat,  every  paddler  leaped  to  his  seat  on  the  gun 
wale,  his  back  to  the  prow ;  beachmen  scrambled  back 
to  shore  through  the  turbulent  eddies,  and,  aided  by  a 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND          .         59 

peculiar  sculling  motion  of  the  paddles,  the  coxswain 
dexterously  kept  the  nose  of  the  canoe  seaward. 

The  backward  pull  of  the  undercurrents  became 
manifest  and  Huntingdon  wondered  why  the  coxswain 
restrained  his  men  instead  of  urging  them  forward,  but 
he  did  not  wonder  long,  for,  in  the  space  where  they 
would  have  been  had  they  dashed  forward,  a  tremendous 
wave  broke  and  it  was  all  the  black  men  could  do  to 
keep  the  canoe  from  spinning  about  and  capsizing. 
Huntingdon  ducked  under  the  thwart  when  the  roller 
broke,  but  not  a  black  man  changed  his  position ;  their 
eyes  were  intent  on  the  coxswain  who  was  eagerly  study 
ing  the  incoming  seas. 

One,  two,  five,  ten  minutes  passed.  They  seemed 
an  eternity  to  Huntingdon  and  he  marveled  how  the 
strength  of  the  blacks  held  out.  Nor  was  he  the  only 
anxious  one.  Better  than  he  the  natives  knew  the 
treachery  of  the  surf  which  girds  their  country  like  an 
almost  impenetrable  wall  and  of  the  heavy  annual  toll 
in  human  lives  exacted  by  it ;  the  millions  of  pounds 
sterling  lost  in  cargo. 

Suddenly,  another  quick  command  fell  from  the  cox 
swain's  lips ;  there  was  another  display  of  prompt,  con 
certed  action ;  again  the  canoe  shot  forward,  then  was 
checked,  then  urged  forward  again.  An  expert  oars 
man  himself,  Huntingdon  recognized  full  well  what  fin 
ished  art  it  was  to  coddle  and  coax  a  canoe  beyond  the 
danger  line  of  undertow  and  breakers. 

The  open  sea  was  gained,  and,  back  and  forth  as 
one  man,  flashed  the  blades  of  the  paddlers.  Their 
stroke  was  rhythmic,  effective,  and  the  canoe  fairly 
leaped  forward  under  its  impetus.  The  white-topped 


60 

rollers  came  and  went,  now  long,  now  short  as  the  canoe 
took  swell  after  swell  and  rode  them  gracefully  to  the 
next  ridge ;  here  and  there  a  porpoise  leaped  high,  and 
off  to  the  south  a  whale  blowed. 

The  sun  shone  brilliantly  upon  the  nude  backs  of 
the  paddlers  and  threw  into  bold  relief  a  magnificent 
display  of  muscles  developed  to  the  highest  perfection. 
Not  an  ounce  of  energy  was  misspent ;  nor  did  paddling 
seem  an  effort,  as,  lightly  balanced  on  the  gunwales  and 
with  no  purchase  save  that  afforded  by  their  cross-locked 
legs,  the  paddlers  swayed  back  and  forth,  gracefully  and 
easily,  their  guttural  r-r-r-r-r's  keeping  time  with  their 
stroke. 

The  team  work  was  superb  and  to  Huntingdon  an 
international  regatta  at  Henley  seemed  amateurish  in 
comparison.  Huntingdon  fully  comprehended  why 
those  mighty  Neptunes  were  the  backbone  of  the  white 
man's  trade  in  Africa  and,  as  his  eyes  and  close  watch 
ing  showed  his  admiration,  the  paddlers  smiled  like 
pleased  children,  exposing  white,  perfect  teeth. 

The  Nigeria  reached,  Huntingdon  lightly  leaped  from 
the  bobbing  canoe  into  the  mammy-chair.  The  latter 
held  no  terror  for  him  then ;  he  was  all  enthusiasm  and 
he  explained  to  Longworthy,  Wallace  and  Haywood 
that  such  an  exhibition  of  expert  canoe-handling  was 
well  worth  any  fear  he  had  felt  or  danger  he  had  en 
countered. 

The  coxswain  was  given  two  guineas  by  Huntingdon 
for  himself  and  his  men,  and  loud  and  hearty  were  the 
thanks  which  floated  up  to  the  Nigeria. 

The  next  day  while  Skipper  Hains  slept,  a  Kru 
and  an  Accra  got  into  a  fight.  They  pommelled  each 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  61 

other  lively  before  the  First  Mate  could  have  them 
separated  and  cast  into  the  hatch  until  such  time  as 
the  skipper  could  administer  punishment.  It  was  nearly 
half  a  day  later  when  Hains,  clad  in  fresh  whites,  and 
armed  with  a  short  cashing-go,1  descended  to  the  fore- 
deck. 

The  whole  ship  was  excited.  While  the  exiles  would 
have  welcomed  any  diversion  however  slight,  a  fight 
was  something  they  never  dreamed  of  and  because  it 
was  at  hand,  they  crowded  forward  for  coigns  of  ad 
vantage.  Huntingdon  and  old  Wallace  succeeded  in 
throwing  their  legs  over  the  ship's  railing  upon  which 
they  climbed,  while  at  their  backs  were  Longworthy  and 
Haywood.  The  forecastle  head  was  filled  with  pushing 
stokers  and  deck  hands,  and  the  excited,  jabbering 
deckers  were  thrust  back  to  make  room  for  the  com 
batants. 

The  sudden  change  from  the  gloomy  depths  of  the 
hatch  to  blinding  daylight  was  too  much  for  them. 
They  clapped  their  hands  over  their  eyes  and  uncertain 
were  their  legs.  They  were  a  sorry  sight,  too,  covered 
with  blood,  grease  and  perspiration. 

Flecking  his  cashing-go  across  their  calves  in  a  man 
ner  which  caused  the  wretches  to  wince,  the  skipper 
demanded  the  cause  of  the  palaver. 

"  Them  Acca  stole  my  woman  last  night  and  I  never 
look  'um,"  complained  the  Kru,  in  a  deep  voice  with 
murder  in  it. 

Loud  and  ribald  was  the  laughter  of  the  white  men, 
echoed  by  the  deckers. 

1  Whip  of  hippopotamus  hide. 


62  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

"Silence!"  roared  Skipper  Hains.  "Accra,  make 
answer !  " 

"  Me,  I  never  look  him  woman.  Woman  look  me. 
Me,  I  never  mek  mouth  so,"  came  the  vigorous  denial. 

"  You're  a  liar  —  "  old  Wallace  began  to  shout,  but 
the  skipper's  voice  drowned  his  words : 

"  Don't  you  sons  of  Ham  savvy  fight-palaver  ain't 
permitted  on  any  ship?  " 

There  was  no  response  from  the  culprits,  but  white 
men  wiggled  and  chortled,  deckers  grunted,  children 
giggled  and  a  woman  laughed  shrilly  and  unmusically. 
It  was  she  who  was  the  cause  of  the  disturbance. 

"  Answer,"  commanded  the  skipper  in  an  awful  voice, 
"  don't  you  savvy  fighting's  against  ship's  rules?  " 

The  heads  of  the  two  culprits  nodded  a  reluctant 
"  yes." 

"  So  ye  do,  d'ye?  Well,  now  your  punishment  for 
disobedience.  Here  you  "  —  and  the  skipper  summoned 
a  deck  hand  who  carried  a  lump  of  waste.  "  Rub  the 
stinking  grease  off'  them  niggers  and  let  'em  stand  up 
and  fight  each  other  proper." 

The  deck  hand  set  to,  but  he  was  too  slow  for  the 
vigorous  Irishman.  Hains  grabbed  a  piece  of  waste, 
and,  throwing  it  to  Sampson,  a  powerful  Km,  he  yelled: 

"  Get  off  them  grease  one  time,  Sampson.  I've  got 
other  fish  to  fry  than  settling  palavers  for  black  pip 
pins." 

The  cleaning  process  was  anything  but  gentle,  and 
everybody  enjoyed  it  except  the  sufferers. 

Skipper  Hains  laid  down  the  rules. 

"  At  each  other  fair  and  square  and  fight  it  out.     No 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  63 

kicking  or  punching.  The  first  man  who  fouls  I'll 
kick  hell  out  of.  Now  go !  " 

Unaccustomed  to  fair  fight,  the  negroes  fouled  re 
peatedly.  The  skipper  cut  in  with  his  cashing-go,  leav 
ing  welts  and  bruises  behind. 

Suddenly  the  Accra's  knee  shot  upwards  and  with 
tremendous  force  was  driven  into  the  Kru's  groin. 
Down  dropped  the  Kru  with  a  frightful  cry  of  acute 
pain ! 

The  cowardly  thrust  enraged  the  white  men.  "  Give 
him  hell,  Skipper,  give  him  hell,"  yelled  Huntingdon. 

But  the  skipper  needed  no  prompting.  He  beat  the 
Accra  unmercifully;  he  called  him  swine  and  all  the 
choice  words  included  in  his  vociferous  vocabulary ;  he 
felled  him,  then  kicked  him  to  his  feet. 

Sampson  helped  the  Kru  to  arise ;  again  the  negroes 
faced  each  other  and  the  skipper  commanded : 

"  One  more  round  and  it's  to  be  the  finish  this  time 
and  no  more  fouling,  savvy?  " 

For  several  solemn  seconds  the  Kru  and  the  Accra 
studied  each  other.  Murder  was  in  their  pose  and  both 
were  suffering  visibly.  The  Kru's  left  eye  was  swollen 
shut  and  blood  was  trickling  down  the  Accra's  throat 
where  the  cashing-go  bit.  Their  powerful  chests  heaved 
like  hard-worked  bellows  and  their  big  nostrils  dilated 
rapidly  as  air  was  pumped  into  exhausted  lungs.  Their 
wind  gained,  the  skipper  thundered: 

"  GO ! " 

With  lowered  heads  and  like  enraged  bulls  the  men 
sprang  for  each  other;  each  clutched  the  other's  neck 
and  head  butted  head  viciously.  No  other  than  a 
negro's  could  have  withstood  the  pounding.  Eyes  were 


64  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

bruised;  noses  flattened;  the  Kru's  upper  teeth  cut 
through  his  lip;  the  Accra's  chin  went  in  and  the  hot 
blood  spurted  forth  in  sticky  streams. 

White  and  black  men  yelled  with  glee :  all  were  on 
a  level  now  —  savages  clamoring  for  blood. 

The  skipper  tried  to  separate  the  combatants. 

"Let  'em  alone,  Skipper!"  came  from  Huntingdon. 

"  It's  too  pretty  a  sight  to  shut  off !  "  cried  Haywood. 

"  Let  it  be  to  a  finish !  "  yelled  Longworthy. 

"  At  him,  you  Kru!  "  commanded  old  Wallace. 

"  Come  on,  you  Accra!  "  urged  Cartwright,  "  there's 
lots  of  fight  yet  in  both  of  you !  " 

The  heads  of  the  negroes  were  pressed  so  closely 
together  that  cheek  bruised  cheek,  blood  commingled 
with  blood,  and  there  was  no  chance  for  butting.  Sud 
denly,  the  fingers  of  the  Accra  closed  on  the  Kru's  wind 
pipe! 

Again  the  skipper's  fury  was  great;  repeatedly  on 
the  Accra's  head  his  cashing-go  descended  but  the  Accra 
continued  to  choke  the  Kru  until  he  had  him  flat  on  the 
deck ! 

At  the  foul  act,  white  men  cried  their  indignation : 

"  Kill  him,  Skipper,  kill  the  brute !  " 

Huntingdon  led  the  descent  to  the  foredeck ;  deckers 
pushed  and  crowded ;  trampled  children  screamed  with 
fright ;  the  excitement  was  terrific  ! 

"  Mr.  Whiting,  clear  the  deck !  "  came  the  skipper's 
stentorian  command. 

"  McGrew,  Kinney,  Sampson,  the  Kru,  clear  the 
deck !  "  ordered  Whiting,  grabbing  a  chair  and  break 
ing  it  over  the  heads  of  the  deckers  nearest  him ;  while 
McGrew  laid  on  with  a  piece  of  cable ;  Sampson  used 


65 

his  mighty  fists,  and  the  skipper  faced  the  white  men 
and  in  a  low  tone  said: 

"  Back  to  your  deck,  gentlemen ;  this  is  no  example 
to  set  to  negroes !  " 

The  white  men  slowly  obeyed,  and  the  skipper  cried : 

"  To  the  hatch  with  the  Accra!  Nothing  to  eat  until 
Lagos,  then  ashore  with  him  never  again  to  be  taken 
aboard  an  Elder-Dempster  boat." 

The  Kru  lay  unconscious  in  a  pool  of  blood ;  his  eyes 
stared;  his  tongue  hung  out,  lacerated  by  his  teeth,  and 
his  face  was  pulp.  Dr.  Young,  the  ship's  surgeon,  ad 
vised  sending  him  to  the  forecastle.  A  steamer  chair 
was  folded,  the  wounded  man  was  placed  thereon  and 
borne  forward,  followed  by  the  doctor  and  the  skipper. 

The  deckers  were  wrought  to  a  high  pitch  of  ex 
citement;  they  gesticulated  wildly,  and,  in  a  babel  of 
dialects,  some  denounced  the  Accra,  others  accused  the 
Kru. 

Hay  wood,  the  military  man,  was  alert.  If  the  Kru 
were  killed,  he  feared  a  tribal  riot  —  blood  for  blood  is 
the  universal  law  of  the  savages ;  no  death  goes  un 
avenged. 

In  a  low  voice  he  expressed  his  fears  to  those  about 
him: 

"  Should  these  black  devils  range  themselves  against 
us,  we  white  men  will  be  powerless.  Stay  you  here 
while  I  descend  among  the  deckers  and  under  no  con 
sideration  appear  to  notice  me  or  follow  me.  I  don't 
like  the  actions  of  those  two  big  Krus  down  there;  if 
their  brother  dies,  and  I  fear  he  will,  and  the  news  should 
leak  out,  the  Krus  will  demand  the  life  of  the  Accra 
and  then  there'll  be  hell  to  pay !  " 


66  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Every  white  man  recognized  the  gravity  of  the  situa 
tion,  and,  as  Haywood  lazily  descended  among  the 
deckers  and  carelessly  edged  himself  between  the  two 
burly  Krus,  white  men  were  apparently  engaged  in  de 
sultory  conversation,  yet  their  every  sense  was  alert  and 
each  regretted  his  firearms  packed  safely  away  in  the 
hold ! 

Hay  wood's  suspicions  were  confirmed ;  the  Krus  in 
their  own  dialect  were  discussing  the  serious  condition  of 
their  brother  and  one  of  them  threatened  to  get  the 
Accra  at  the  first  opportunity. 

There  was  only  one  thing  to  do ;  to  notify  the  skipper 
to  keep  the  Kru's  condition  a  secret ! 

Slowly  towards  the  forecastle  Haywood  advanced,  but 
directly  in  his  path  was  a  tall,  stately  Mohammedan, 
who  was  evidently  the  leader  of  his  party. 

Huntingdon  attempted  to  pass  him  by,  but  the  fellow 
kept  his  stand. 

Haywood  was  amazed.  Did  the  Mohammedan  divine 
his  purpose?  Did  he  belong  to  the  same  secret  society 
as  the  Krus,  a  society  of  murderers,  cruel  and  vin 
dictive,  dreaded  alike  by  white  men  and  black  men? 

The  situation  was  indeed  serious. 

Like  a  flash  carelessness  fell  from  Haywood,  he  was 
the  soldier,  imperious  and  dauntless. 

"  Stand  aside !  "  came  his  military  command. 

The  Mohammedan  moved  not,  but  from  out  his  ghostly 
wrappings  a  long  arm  crept  slowly,  and  majestically 
pointed  towards  the  west. 

Every  eye  followed  that  gesture. 

In  the  intensely  blue  vault  of  the  sky  a  well-defined 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  67 

and  regular  arch  of  dark  clouds  was  forming  about 
a  dense  white  one ! 

Every  decker,  sailor  and  old  coaster  knew  what  that 
meant ! 

A  tornado ! 

The  fight  was  forgotten ! 

Men  scrambled  for  shelter ! 

Gusts  of  wind  swept  the  ship ! 

There  came  swift,  sharp  detonations  of  thunder,  and 
streams  of  acute  lightning,  increasing  in  volume  and 
activity. 

Bending  low  to  combat  the  wind,  the  skipper  hurriedly 
crossed  the  foredeck  and  mounted  the  ladder  to  the 
bridge,  crying  his  commands  as  he  went.  Canvases 
were  furled  and  the  Nigeria  was  brought  almost  to 
anchor,  her  prow  towards  the  tornado.  Wind,  lightning 
and  seas  battled  for  hours,  then  came  the  calm,  followed 
by  a  deluge  of  rain.  It  was  just  such  another  storm 
as  had  been  experienced  off  Sierra  Leone,  but  the  long, 
monotonous  voyage  had  prepared  the  tenderfeet  for 
almost  anything. 

Huntingdon  went  below  to  dress  for  dinner,  but  the 
smell  of  the  close  ship  brought  on  mal-de-mer.  He 
hastily  donned  a  great  rain  coat,  and,  pulling  a  soft  hat 
over  his  eyes,  he  sought  the  deck. 

In  the  gangway  he  ran  into  the  Jakri  and  upset  her. 
He  helped  her  up,  intending  to  release  her  immediately, 
but  the  rocking  of  the  ship  caused  him  to  hold  her  close 
in  his  arms  so  as  to  keep  his  balance. 

"  Mr.  Huntingdon  want  me?  "  coaxed  the  girl,  allur 
ingly,  smiling  into  the  white  man's  face  and  pressing  her 


68  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

slim  body  close  against  his.  A  wave  of  cheap  cologne 
assailed  Huntingdon's  nostrils.  Roughly  he  set  the 
girl  on  her  feet,  and  hurried  above. 

Exerting  all  his  strength,  he  pushed  open  the  great 
storm  door  and  stepped  onto  the  deck.  Suddenly,  the 
door  banged  shut  behind  him  leaving  him  at  the  mercy 
of  the  tornado.  His  hat  was  snatched  from  his  head 
and  sent  sailing  through  space  and  his  coat  flapped 
angrily  about  him.  The  night  was  as  dark  as  Erebus; 
wind  and  rain  held  sway  and  the  deck  Avas  deserted, 
drenched  and  slippery.  He  turned  to  go  in,  but  a 
severe  gust  of  wind  sent  him  spinning  down  the  deck 
and  brought  him  hard  against  the  taffrail.  It  was  a 
wonder  he  was  not  propelled  overboard.  Instead,  he 
dropped  into  the  scupper  where  he  lay  pelted  by  rain, 
washed  by  heavy  seas  and  tortured  by  blinding  lightning. 

He  knew  he  must  at  once  make  an  effort  to  return 
below.  Holding  tight  to  the  rail,  he  forced  himself  to 
his  feet  and  was  conscious  of  acute  pain  in  his  right 
hand.  With  his  head  bent  almost  to  his  knees  he  tried 
to  grope  his  way  across  the  deck,  but  the  wind  again 
blew  him  off  his  feet  and  inrushing  seas  again  swept 
him  into  the  scupper.  On  his  hands  and  knees  and  dig 
ging  his  finger  nails  into  the  deck  he  slowly  crawled 
to  the  door;  he  pulled  with  all  his  might,  but  could  not 
open  it. 

Wind,  rain  and  lightning  continued  to  torture  him  and 
death  threatened.  He  determined  to  make  for  the  skip 
per's  quarters,  but  a  glance  in  that  direction  revealed 
an  exposed  stretch  of  deck  over  which  the  wind  blew 
so  violently  that  it  were  folly  to  attempt  to  combat  it ! 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  tackle  the  door  again. 


69 

He  strained,  he  pulled,  he  tugged!  The  pain  in  his 
hand  was  intensified,  and  the  warm  blood  trickled  forth. 
He  was  drenched  to  the  skin  and  miserably  seasick !  He 
must  get  the  door  open ! 

He  grabbed  the  knob  in  both  hands,  and,  planting  his 
feet  firmly  against  the  under  sill,  he  pulled  steadily. 
Suddenly,  the  door  shot  open,  and,  had  he  not  been  pre 
pared,  he  would  again  have  gone  spinning  down  the 
deck. 

After  the  fresh  night  air,  the  smell  of  the  close  ship 
enhanced  his  seasickness,  but  pressing  his  lips  hard 
together  he  forced  himself  below  to  Dr.  Young's  cabin. 

There  was  a  hesitancy  about  opening  the  door;  Dr. 
Young  was  visibly  embarrassed,  and  a  red  Kwitta  cloth 
showed  from  under  the  berth.  Huntingdon  recognized 
it  as  the  cloth  worn  by  the  Jakri,  but  he  said  nothing. 

Dr.  Young  reported  no  bones  broken,  and,  care 
fully  cleansing  and  dressing  the  hand,  he  went  into  a 
long  description  about  the  care  of  wounds  in  the  tropics. 
They  heal  slowly ;  sometimes  never ;  infection  has  to  be 
guarded  against  in  every  possible  manner;  he  advised 
washes  of  permanganate  of  potassium. 

Did  Huntingdon  know  of  the  great  danger  of  guinea 
worm  in  unboiled,  unfiltered  drinking  water?  Of  the 
agony  its  removal  entailed?  Of  the  slow  recovery  of 
the  patient,  of  his  frequent  death? 

Did  Huntingdon  know  about  prickly  heat?  Of  the 
prevalence  of  smallpox,  syphilis?  The  fatality  of 
blackwater  fever?  The  increasing  deaths  from  sleep 
sickness?  The  danger  from  mosquito  and  jigger  bites? 
The  constant  menace  from  serpents  and  wild  animals? 

Yes,  Huntingdon  had  been  warned  of  all  those  things 


70  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

by  Wallace.  That  old  croak  had  dwelt  so  long  and  lov 
ingly  upon  the  pleasures  (?)  in  store  for  tenderfeet 
that  every  one  of  them,  Huntingdon  not  excepted, 
had,  at  one  time  or  other,  imagined  himself  already  a 
corpse ! 

"  The  reason  old  Wallace  and  some  more  old  coasters 
have  escaped,"  went  on  the  doctor,  "  is  because  even 
when  drunk  they  never  neglect  their  daily  dose  of  qui 
nine  ;  they  never  sleep  without  a  mosquito  bar ;  they 
avoid  drafts;  they  have  all  foliage  cut  away  from  their 
living  quarters ;  they  drink  only  boiled  water ;  they  al 
low  no  water  thrown  about;  they  don't  permit  natives 
to  prepare  chop  in  their  utensils.  Self-preservation's 
a  habit  with  them.  Cultivate  the  habit  yourself,  and 
you'll  pull  through  all  right.  Africa's  pretty  bad,  yet 
prevention  and  care  do  wonders." 

Slowly  the  red  cloth  was  being  withdrawn  under  the 
berth,  and,  when  it  was  no  longer  visible,  Dr.  Young  was 
greatly  relieved,  and,  although  he  gave  Huntingdon  no 
chance  to  say  anything,  he  talked  less  rapidly. 

"  You  know,  dear  old  chap,  that  malaria's  hell  and 
it  attacks  the  weakest  part  of  the  constitution ;  you  must 
protect  your  ankles ;  wear  mosquito  boots  all  the  time. 
Any  man  who  don't  guard  against  malaria  —  that  is 
the  mosquito  —  is  a  fool  and  the  sooner  the  world  is 
rid  of  him,  the  better  for  the  world.  Every  day  at  four 
o'clock  have  your  boy  put  down  your  mosquito  bar; 
make  him  tuck  it  under  the  mattress,  not  let  it  hang  on 
the  floor;  scrub  out  dark  corners  at  least  once  a  month 
with  Jeyes  fluid.  See  that  your  bathing  water's  clean ; 
and  when  you  tramp  through  swamps,  wear  good,  thick 
canvas  leggings  to  avoid  craw-crate;  it's  also  hell  — 


71 

comes  in  sores ;  infernally  itchy,  but  if  you  scratch 
there's  danger  of  infection  from  your  nails.  Nearly  all 
natives  have  craw-craw  and  their  quarters  are  beds  of 
contagion ;  avoid  them.  Natives  never  isolate  any  infec 
tious  diseases  and  they'd  rather  hide  lepers  and  sleep 
sickness  patients  than  deliver  them  to  the  governments 
for  treatment ;  it's  a  wonder  to  me  a  plague  don't  break 
out  all  over  Africa  and  communicate  itself  to  Europe  — 
but  on  second  thought,  that's  not  likely,  for  the  vultures 
eat  the  dead  —  well,  hand's  in  as  fine  a  shape  as  I  can 
put  it  —  come  in  to-morrow  and  I'll  dress  it  again,  and 
to-night  better  take  about  twenty  grains  of  quinine 
and  in  the  morning  some  fruit  salts !  " 

He  bowed  Huntingdon  out. 

"  The  old  fool,"  chortled  Huntingdon.  "  I  wouldn't 
care  a  rap  if  he  had  the  whole  Jaltr'i  tribe  of  girls  under 
his  bunk !  " 

The  Km  died  during  the  night.  So  secretly  was 
he  immediately  consigned  to  the  sea's  depths  that  his 
death  did  not  become  generally  known  until  after  the 
Accra  had  been  delivered  to  the  British  authorities  at 
Lagos. 

In  the  meantime,  the  rain  continued,  the  fog  horn 
tooted  ominously,  and  seas  were  hostile.  Axim,  Se- 
kondi,  Cape  Coast  Castle,  Accra  and  Lagos  were  left 
behind.  The  mammy-chair  ceased  to  amuse,  men  were 
losing  heart  for  jest,  final  partings  were  near.  Al 
ready  the  company  was  noticeably  smaller  and  men  were 
depressed  almost  beyond  endurance.  The  epitome  of 
misery  was  reached  the  night  before  Fo^ados. 

The  white  men  were  gathered  in  the  dining-saloon ; 
silent  and  retrospective  they  leaned  on  the  tables  or  else 


72  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

lounged  on  divans.  Neither  gambling  nor  intoxicants 
brought  any  relief  from  the  insistence  of  the  maddening 
present. 

A  white-clad,  pale-faced  steward  sauntered  slowly  to 
the  piano.  Other  times  he  had  been  eagerly  importuned 
for  music,  but  not  so  now ;  men  were  too  far  in  the  depths 
to  do  aught  but  gaze  steadfast  at  the  four  walls  of 
their  little  floating  world  and  wish  for  the  end  of  the 
voyage. 

Listlessly  the  steward  seated  himself  at  the  piano  and 
his  fingers  wandered  idly  over  the  keys.  His  raised 
eyes  encountered  a  closed  port  against  which  the  sea 
broke  violently.  From  the  instrument  there  came  an 
improvisation  echoing  the  night  wind  and  the  sobbing 
sea ;  deep  thunder,  too,  rolled  forth  and  died  away  — 
then,  evidently  following  the  trend  of  the  player's 
longing,  came  the  piano's  wail : 

Be  it  ever  so  humble,  there's  no  place  like  home! 

The  music  was  but  a  whisper,  but  it  fell  like  mighty 
hammer  strokes  on  quivering,  sensitive  hearts  — 

'Midst  pleasures  and  palaces  — 

Men  listened  in  silence  — 

Wherever  I  roam  — 

At  heart-strings  tugged  longings  so  acute  as  to  be 
torture  — 

Be  it  ever  so  humble  — 

The  notes  came  slowly,  softly,  tremulously  drawn 
out  — 

There's  —  no  —  place  — 

Then  the  crescendo  of  anguish  was  reached  and  the 
piano  sobbed: 

—  like  home! 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  73 

It  was  too  much  to  ask  men  to  bear,  too  much !  In 
a  hoarse  voice  Haywood  cried: 

"  For  Christ's  sake,  man,  something  else,  something 
else!" 

Yes,  anything  else  but  Home  Sweet  Home,  that  heart 
rending  reminder  of  other  times,  other  places ;  anything 
else  but  that  awakener  of  remorse,  regret! 

Berths  were  sought,  not  for  sleep,  but  to  think,  to 
go  back  over  Time's  pages  while  regret  wailed  dismally 
and  persistently :  Too  late,  too  late! 

kL; 

And  first,  within  the  porch  and  jaws  of  Hell, 
Sat  deep  Remorse  of  Conscience,  all  besprent 
With  tears;  and  to  herself  oft  would  she  tell 
Her  wretchedness,  and,  cursing,  never  stent 
To  sob  and  sigh,  but  ever  thus  lament 
With  thoughtful  care;  as  she  that,  all  in  vain, 
Would  wear  and  waste  continually  in  pain. 

SteS?* 

Her  eyes  unsteadfast,  rolling  here  and  there, 

Whirled  on  each  place,  as  place  that  vengeance  brought; 

So  was  her  mind  continually  in  fear, 

Tost  and  tormented  with  the  tedious  thought 

Of  those  detested  crimes  which  she  had  wrought; 

With  dreadful  cheer,  and  looks  thrown  to  the  sky, 

Wishing  for  death,  and  yet  she  could  not  die. 

—  SACKVILLE. 

While  Huntingdon's  thoughts  never  once  dwelt  on 
death  as  a  release  from  the  present,  yet  with  all  his  heart 
and  soul  he  wished  the  long  voyage  would  end  with  sun 
rise  ;  but  he  knew  how  many  more  leagues  had  to  be 
traversed  before  Cape  Lopez  was  reached  and  he  reso 
lutely  made  up  his  mind  to  endure. 

However,  there  were  two  men  on  the  Nigeria  who  did 
not  to  seem  to  mind  the  horrors  of  the  night.  They  were 


74 

Dr.  Young  and  Cartwright  who  threw  dice  until  sun 
rise.  Young  lost  every  cent  he  possessed  and  more,  for 
which  he  made  out  an  I.  O.  U.  with  a  heavy  sigh. 

"  I'm  pretty  hard  hit  myself,  old  man,"  Cartwright 
consoled ;  "  I  haven't  got  a  clear  quid  coming  to  me  for 
months,  but,  I  say,  gimme  the  Jakri  and  we'll  call  it 
square." 

"  Right  you  are,  old  man,  she's  yours,  but  watch  her ; 
you  can't  trust  a  native  woman  out  of  your  sight." 

Dead  slow,  on  the  full,  morning  tide,  the  flat-bot 
tomed  Nigeria  steamed  through  a  mud-colored  lagoon, 
shut  in  all  around  with  mangroves  and  inhabited  by 
crocodiles  and  hippopotami.  Infinitely  depressing  was 
the  heavy  moisture,  and,  as  the  steamer  progressed,  a 
part  of  the  dark  wall  seemed  rather  to  recede  than  an 
opening  to  be  disclosed  —  and  there  was  Foi^ados  :  a  few 
old  hulks  lying  low  in  the  water,  a  sad-looking  light 
house  and  several  tin-roofed  bungalows  erected  on  low 
piles ! 

The  place  seemed  the  end  of  the  earth  and  simply 
reeked  with  flatness  and  everlasting  dreariness.  Yet 
Fo^ados  River  is  one  of  the  myriad  mouths  of  the 
great  Niger,  that  river  of  wealth  and  treachery  so 
dreaded  by  white  men.  Many  of  their  number  have 
embarked  thereon,  and  few,  pitifully  few  have  returned, 
and  those  who  have,  bear  for  all  eternity  on  their 
pinched  faces  the  pallor  and  the  weariness  with  which 
Africa  marks  her  victim.  In  the  delta  dug-out  canoes 
drift  past  and  a  few  naked  aborigines  disclose  themselves 
on  the  bank,  their  neighborhood  already  betrayed  by  the 
empty  gin  bottles  which  lie  in  the  slime  among  the  gaunt 
roots  of  the  depressing  mangroves.  The  river  itself  is 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  75 

very  wide  and  pea-soup  in  color ;  when  a  crocodile  slides 
hideously  into  its  hiding  depths,  or  a  fall  of  mud  dis 
turbs  it,  the  splash  is  of  some  liquid  more  dense  than 
water,  and  a  swirling  but  no  light  ripples  follow  the 
disturbance.  Always  the  river  looks  evil,  secretive, 
treacherous. 

And  it  was  up  this  River  of  Hell  that  Longworthy 
and  Cartwright  were  bound.  The  exiles  felt  the  tragedy 
of  it  all,  and  'midst  solemn  silence  the  departing  white 
men  took  their  places  in  the  launch  that  was  to  take 
them  to  Burutu,  where  the  little  paddle-stern  wheeler 
awaits  Niger  passengers. 

The  Mohammedans,  who  were  bound  for  Ada  on  the 
River,  Longworthy's  Yoruba  and  Cartwright's  Jakri 
were  also  in  the  launch,  and  the  only  sound  that  broke 
the  brooding  stillness  was  the  puffing  of  the  engine  and 
the  gay  good-bys  the  departing  women  called  to  the 
Yoruba  of  Haywood. 

In  silence  Huntingdon,  old  Wallace  and  Haywood 
watched  the  launch  until  she  was  out  of  sight.  Certes 
it  was,  the  same  body  of  men  would  travel  together  never 
again,  never  again ! 

The  next  day  at  Calabar,  in  Southern  Nigeria,  Hay- 
wood  and  old  Wallace  were  left  behind,  and  to  Hunt 
ingdon  the  steamer  seemed  a  house  of  dead  from  which 
loved  ones  had  departed  forever.  But  many  and  reiter 
ated  were  the  promises  to  write  to  each  other,  and  Hunt 
ingdon  found  cheer  in  the  thought  of  such  letters. 

The  Nigeria  continued  her  way  in  a  sea  of  haze, 
smokes  offshore  completely  blotting  out  the  offing  and 
the  heat  daily  increasing  as  the  equator  was  approached. 
The  German  Cameroons  was  left  behind,  and  off  Libre- 


76  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

ville,  the  capital  of  the  Congo  Franfais,  the  Nigeria 
anchored  only  long  enough  to  discharge  cargo ;  then  the 
equator  was  crossed,  the  rain  ceased,  and  at  four  o'clock 
on  a  brilliant  afternoon  in  June  Cape  Lopez  hove  in 
sight,  a  glittering  streak  of  sand,  dotted  here  and  there 
with  low  buildings  set  against  a  background  of  dense 
bush.  The  long,  tedious  voyage  was  ended  and  Hunt 
ingdon  was  truly  thankful.  Resolutely  he  put  all  un 
pleasant  memories  behind  him  and  he  turned  to  Cape 
Lopez  and  the  future. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  anchor  was  overboard  and  Skipper  Hains  cried: 

"  It's  the  end  of  the  earth  ye  might  as  well  be,  me 
lad,  as  far's  life's  concerned  here  and  ye'll  grow  rusty 
unless  ye  look  sharp.  And  if  it's  a  bit  o'  advice  I 
might  be  after  giving  ye,  don't  ye  mind  gossip,  keep 
away  from  the  wenches,  attend  to  your  own  affairs  and 
get  out  of  the  bally  country  as  soon  as  ye  can  —  and 
be  remembering,  me  lad,  that  Irish  Hains  is  your  friend, 
come  what  will ;  he's  Irish  and  he's  poor,  save  in  good 
wishes  to  his  friends  —  and  he  knows  the  meaning  of 
the  word  friend,  don't  be  after  forgetting  that  ayther." 

Huntingdon  grasped  the  honest  fellow's  browned 
hand,  but  e'er  he  could  thank  him,  the  skipper  was  peer 
ing  through  his  glasses,  and,  focusing  them  on  shore,  he 
espied  two  canoes  putting  out  from  the  English  trading 
houses  of  John  Holt  and  Hatton  and  Cookson. 

"  Moore's  in  Cookson's  gig,  and  Smithson,  the  man 
you're  to  replace,  is  in  the  other;  he's  got  a  white  man 
with  him,  but  he  must  be  a  newcomer.  He's  unknown  to 
me  —  but  you  can  bet  on  it  he's  a  Britisher  for  the 
English  and  the  French  don't  mix  well." 

The  contrast  in  the  three  white  men  who  came  up  the 
Nigeria's  ladder  was  great.  Smithson  and  Moore  were 
in  white,  the  third  man  was  in  kakhi.  Smithson  was 
slight,  highly  nervous,  rather  refined  and  young.  Moore 
was  likewise  young,  but  he  was  tall  and  raw-boned,  with 

77 


78  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

a  huge  calabash  pipe  in  a  slit  of  a  mouth.  He  walked 
with  a  swagger  as  confidential  as  John  Bull's  own  and 
his  fists  with  their  great,  bony  knuckles  looked  as  though 
they  could  hit.  Both  men  were  pale,  startlingly  so, 
while  the  third  man  was  round,  rosy,  chubby,  jolly  and 
all  motion.  He  looked  and  acted  like  a  school  boy  out 
for  a  lark. 

"  Thanks,  Mr.  Huntingdon,"  said  he,  Sadler  by  name, 
"  for  landing  on  the  beach  and  removing  from  me  the 
stigma  of  tenderfoot.  I've  been  out  six  months.  I'm 
skipper  of  the  Oka.  She's  a  little  Ogowe  river  steamer 
belonging  to  John  Holt.  The  jolly  show's  broke  down 
and  I'm  living  with  Smithson  until  repairs  are  made. 
Only  old  Nick  himself  knows  how  long  that'll  be.  Noth 
ing  moves  out  here.  You'll  get  so  rotten  sick  of  the 
moth-eaten  country  that  you'll  punch  niggers  just  for 
excitement." 

Sadler  was  a  tonic.  Both  Skipper  Hains  and  Hunt 
ingdon  were  attracted  to  him. 

Skipper  Hains'  blue  eyes  danced,  and  he  said : 

"  Ah,  Skipper  Sadler,  it's  us  old  seadogs  that  can 
top  these  landlubbers  every  time.  It's  a  self-appointed 
guarjian  I've  been  to  Mr.  Huntingdon.  Now  I  appoint 
ye  my  successor.  If  he  don't  do  what's  right,  be  after 
telling  me  when  I  come  back,  and  achune  us  we'll  con 
coct  his  punishment." 

The  skipper  ordered  champagne. 

"  Vivre  la  France,  pomme-de-terre-frit,"  cried  Moore. 

"It's  no  toast  like  that  I'll  be  drinking,"  objected 
Skipper  Hains.  "  To  Ireland,  God  bless  her !  " 

"  And  to  England !  "  added  Huntingdon. 

"  Chin,  chin ! "  came  the  hearty  chorus. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  79 

"  Be  good  and  God  bless  ye,"  Hains  cried  as  the  gigs 
made  for  the  shore.  Then  he  was  heard  to  bellow : 
"  Sampson,  make  them  polka  dotted  sons  of  Ham  get 
off  cargo  one  time,  or  I'll  — " 

Over  Cape  Lopez  brooded  'dreariness,  silence  and 
sloth.  There  wasn't  a  native  canoe  in  sight,  nor  was 
there  any  landing  pier.  The  sea  beat  monotonously 
upon  a  barren  beach,  piled  here  and  there  with  immense 
logs  awaiting  shipment  to  Europe. 

"  Behold  your  mansion,"  little  Sadler  shouted  at  Hunt 
ingdon,  indicating  a  wooden  bungalow  set  high  on  piles 
and  surrounded  by  a  great  veranda.  "  And  that  long 
shed  there  just  south  of  it's  the  trading  factory.  Wel 
come  to  your  domain,  O,  Great  White  King,"  and  the 
little  skipper  salamed  in  a  truly  comical  manner. 

On  the  veranda,  furnished  with  dilapidated  steamer 
chairs  and  a  much-scarred  table,  were  the  servants. 

"  Come  forth,  you  King  of  Pots  and  Pans,  you  De- 
spoiler  of  Food,  you  Mixer  of  Dirt,  you  Handler  of 
Secret  Poisons,  you  Unwashed  Chef,  come  forth  Few- 
Clothes  and  greet  your  new  master,  the  Great  White 
King." 

A  villainous  specimen  of  the  Bantu  race  gingerly  ad 
vanced.  He  was  tall  and  thin  and  wriggled  like  a  snake. 
He  wore  old  khaki  trousers  and  a  very  much  soiled  old 
white  duck  coat,  minus  buttons.  Craft  and  cunning 
were  written  all  over  his  brutal,  repulsive  face.  He  was 
uncomfortable  in  clothing  and  Huntingdon  concluded 
he  seldom  wore  any. 

"  Master,  I  pleased  to  look  you,"  he  said  in  guttural 
tones,  his  restless  eyes  on  Sadler's  fists. 

"  Down  on  your  knees,  you  cannibal,  you  scum  of  hell, 


80  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

and  greet  the  Great  White  King  proper,"  the  little 
skipper  bellowed  in  tones  worthy  of  Captain  Hains,  "  or 
I'll  — "  and  the  wag  brought  his  fist  against  the  palm  of 
his  hand  with  a  resounding  whack. 

Few-Clothes  fairly  grovelled  at  Huntingdon's  feet 
and  shouted: 

"  Good  night,  Master,  Great  White  King,  I  pleased 
to  look  you." 

Sadler  gave  the  fellow  a  vicious  kick  and  told  him  to 
be  off  and  "  get  chop  l  ready  one  time." 

"  Now  Ngumbe,"  Sadler  continued,  "  no  chimpanzee 
tricks,  or  I'll  bind  you  hand  and  foot  and  feed  you  to 
the  drivers.2  This  is  Ngumbe,  O  Great  White  King, 
the  houseboy  and  next  in  importance  after  Chef  Few- 
Clothes.  He's  maid  of  all  work,  the  guardian  of  your 
kit,  and  the  greatest  liar  and  thief  unhamstrung." 

Ngumbe  was  about  eighteen  years  of  age,  lithe  and 
supple  as  a  sapling,  wearing  his  indifferent  white  ducks 
easily  and  well.  He  bowed  low  and  gracefully  and  said 
in  round,  full,  clear,  pleasing  tones : 

"  Good  evening,  Master  Huntingdon,  Great  White 
King,  Ngumbe,  houseboy  to  Master  Smithson,  look 
you  with  pleasure  for  him  eye ;  you  be  proper  white  man, 
proper  master." 

Be  he  thief,  liar,  flatterer,  or  any  other  detestable 
thing,  Huntingdon  liked  the  boy's  appearance;  he 
opined  that  he  had  grown  up  in  the  service  of  white 
men  and  was  thoroughly  familiar  with  their  ways. 

Of  the  three  remaining  sennteurs  Sadler  said : 
'  Them  be  jack-wash,  cook's-mate,  and  that  grinning 
ape's  Mbega,  raw  material  just  from  the  bush  and  boy 

i  Food.  2  Carnivorous  ants. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  81 

for  you,  O  Great  White  King.  You'll  have  a  picnic 
training  him,  but  if  you  don't  want  the  job,  I'll  do  it 
for  you." 

The  boys  grovelled  in  turn,  and  Mbega,  young,  tall, 
thin  and  awkward,  wearing  only  an  old  loin  cloth  and 
ju-ju  charms  entwined  with  his  scapulars,  grinned  a 
most  prodigious  grin  exposing  teeth  the  envy  of  the 
most  expert  dentist  who  ever  lived. 

"  Sunlight,  where's  Sunlight !  "  Sadler  then  bellowed. 

"  I  live,  Master,"  a  deep  voice  spoke  quietly  and  a  big 
savage  stepped  on  to  the  veranda. 

"  Me  boy,  O  Great  White  King.  He's  black  as  the 
shades  of  hell  so  I  named  him  Sunlight." 

Sunlight  bore  himself  with  the  case  and  grace  of  an 
untamed  thing  accustomed  to  freedom  and  untrammelled 
space.  But  with  the  sublime  was  mingled  the  ridiculous. 
Over  a  loin  cloth  he  wore  a  cast-off  khaki  coat  of  his 
master  so  small  and  tight  that  it  drew  back  his  shoulders, 
restricted  the  free  use  of  his  arms  and  exposed  a  power 
ful  chest,  the  envy  of  the  athletic  Huntingdon.  He 
looked  stolidly  at  Huntingdon  and  muttered  something 
in  his  native  tongue.  He  could  not  speak  English. 

"  Dee  sous,"  1  said  Sadler  laconically,  sprawling  in  a 
chair  and  extending  his  chubby  feet.  Solemnly  and 
deliberately  the  savage  removed  Sadler's  boot  and 
stocking  and  with  a  great  knife  carefully  dug  out  the 
jigger. 

Drinks  were  ordered  of  Ngumbe,  and  Smithson  took 
Huntingdon  within  to  show  him  the  bungalow. 

It  consisted  of  a  great  dining-  and  living-room  with 
bedrooms  leading  off  from  either  side.  Ragged,  grass 

1  Local  name  for  jigger. 


82  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

mats  were  strewn  on  the  rough,  unclean  plank  floor ;  a 
crude  sideboard  stood  with  feet  in  tins  of  oil  and  water ; 
open  doors  and  yawning  drawers  disclosed  odds  and 
ends  of  men's  apparel  melanged  with  catsup,  mustard 
and  tobasco  sauce  bottles,  corkscrews  and  drinking 
glasses.  The  carpet  settee  was  the  saddest  looking 
implement  of  unrest  eyes  ever  saw ;  the  flat-topped  desk 
with  pigeonholes  up  the  back  was  littered  with,  and 
jammed  full  of,  papers ;  the  crude  dining  table  and  chairs 
were  survivals  of  the  fittest  for  many  a  scar  they  bore. 
Bedrooms  contained  the  scantiest  of  crude  furniture ; 
beds  were  draped  in  enormous  mosquito  bars ;  tin  trunks, 
resting  on  split  glass  bottles,  were  piled  one  on  the  other, 
and  soiled  and  torn  clothing  lay  just  where  their  wearers 
had  flung  them. 

Huntingdon  never  before  beheld  such  a  drab,  un 
cleanly,  depressing,  human  habitation.  There  was  not 
one  redeeming  feature,  one  gentle  touch  showing  that 
civilized  men  dwelt  therein.  Huge  spider  webs  and  mud- 
houses  of  wasps  were  everywhere  and  the  very  air 
reeked  with  squalor  and  poverty.  It  was  a  sharp,  cruel 
contrast  to  the  exquisite,  harmonious  environment  in 
which  he  was  reared,  and  he  determined  to  change  every 
thing  when  he  was  in  full  charge. 

Left  alone  with  Moore  on  the  veranda,  little  Sadler 
cried : 

"  I'm  for  him,"  and  he  jerked  his  thumb  towards  the 
bungalow.  "  As  a  rule  I'm  not  keen  on  aristocrats,  but 
you  just  can't  help  liking  this  Huntingdon." 

"  A  bally  fool  you  made  of  yourself  and  him  calling 
him  Great  White  King,"  Moore  sneered. 

"  Well,  if  you  looked  as  much  of  a  king  as  he  does, 


83 

you'd  wear  a  crown  and  be  so  rotten  tyrannical  there'd 
be  no  living  with  you.  Gad,  but  he's  a  one-time  winner ! 
He's  the  real  thing.  He  don't  need  to  say  a  word,  he 
don't  need  to  act,  he  just  is  —  and  that's  aristocracy." 

"  You  bet  Fll  pump  out  of  him  the  truth  of  his  being 
out  here.  You  can't  make  me  swallow  the  tale  that 
he's  here  for  trade.  I  wonder  what  the  scandal  is 
that—" 

"  You've  got  the  gall  of  a  leopard,  Moore,  but  it 
won't  work  in  this  case,"  Sadler  interrupted.  "  You'll 
be  just  as  wise  after  you've  pumped  as  you  were  before 
you  commenced  and  a  jolly  sight  more  tired.  Ain't  you 
afraid  he'll  steal  your  fat  slob  from  you?  " 

"  Go  to  hell,"  and  Moore  arose  and  looked  over  the 
drinks  set  on  the  table  by  Ngumbe.  He  helped  himself 
to  a  generous  portion  of  pernaud  l  then  turned  to  Hunt 
ingdon,  who  with  Smithson  and  Sadler,  approached  the 
table :  "  Here's  a  welcome  to  Mr.  Huntingdon,  good 
health  and  good  luck." 

"  Chin,  chin,"  responded  Sadler  and  Smithson,  then 
Huntingdon  toasted  the  others. 

It  was  sundown. 

Pith  helmets  were  replaced  by  large,  soft,  gray  felt 
Wideawakes.  Huntingdon  noticed  that  the  traders  were 
close-shaven  like  convicts.  He  ran  his  fingers  through 
his  luxuriant  blond  hair  and  wondered  if  he'd  be  more 
comfortable  if  it  were  shorn. 

In  answer  to  his  thought,  Sadler  said: 

"  I'll  clip  you  clean  to-morrow,  Mr.  Huntingdon ; 
hair's  too  hot.  You  know  we've  got  to  wear  a  sun  hat 
from  sunup  to  sundown,  and  after  that  until  bedtime 

1  Absinthe. 


84  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

some  sort  of  soft  hat  to  ward  off  insect  bites.  This  is 
a  bally  jolly  country,  I  don't  think." 

"  Oh,  I  say,  Mr.  Huntingdon,  many  coast  beauties 
brought  down  on  the  ship?  "  Moore  suddenly  demanded. 

"  The  usual  number,  I  believe." 

"  Who  were  aboard?  " 

"  Captain  Haywood  of  the  Royal  Irish  Fusiliers, 
Longworthy  of  the  Royal  Niger  Company,  and  old 
Wallace  of  — " 

"  That  bunch,"  and  Moore  shrugged  his  shoulders 
contemptuously.  "  Lots  of  gambling  and  drinking?  " 

Huntingdon  nodded. 

"Who  went  broke?" 

"  I  didn't  play  bank,  old  chap,"  Huntingdon  drawled 
in  his  laziest  West-End  tones. 

Behind  Huntingdon's  back  the  delighted  Sadler  poked 
Moore's  ribs  and  nudged  Smithson. 

There  was  silence. 

Black  night  fell. 

One  light  gleamed  on  Lopez  Bay,  just  off  shore.  It 
was  a  red  lantern  on  the  stern  of  the  little  Oka. 

Soon  another  light,  a  fire,  leaped  forth  on  the  sandy 
beach.  It  was  the  watch  commencing  his  night's  vigil 
over  the  mahogany  logs.  Tides  were  high  and  danger 
ous  and  liable  to  send  the  logs  adrift  at  any  time. 

Ngumbe  lighted  a  lamp  and  set  it  on  the  table.  A 
horde  of  mosquitoes  immediately  came  to  life  and  at 
tacked  Huntingdon's  ankles.  He  wore  white  canvas 
low-cuts  but  the  others  wore  mosquito  boots.  Sadler 
leaned  over  and  blew  out  the  light. 

Huntingdon  was  led  to  talk  of  Europe  and  civiliza 
tion,  then  Smithson  abruptly  demanded  if  he  had  brought 


85 

out  many  firearms  and  much  ammunition.  Huntingdon 
replied  in  the  affirmative. 

"  You'd  best  declare  them,  then,  the  first  thing  in  the 
morning;  anyhow  you've  got  to  make  official  calls.  I'll 
go  with  you." 

"  Thanks,  old  man,"  drawled  Huntingdon,  "  but  I've 
got  a  permit  from  the  Minister  of  the  French  Colonies 
admitting  my  kit,  firearms  and  ammunition  free,  also  a 
permit  to  hunt  any  game  there  might  be." 

"  Tain't  worth  the  paper  it's  written  on,"  Moore 
sneered.  "  France  is  far  away  and  out  here  Douanes 
and  Commandants  do  as  they  please.  Best  declare  your 
stuff  and  don't  commence  by  getting  in  wrong.  The 
Pomme-de-terre-frits  1  can  make  it  hell  for  you  all  right." 

"  Because  you're  in  wrong  you  don't  need  to  think 
that  everybody  else  is,"  retorted  Sadler. 

"  The  Douane's  a  half-breed  from  Martinique," 
Moore  went  on,  ignoring  Sadler.  "  We've  dubbed  him 
gourmand  because  the  natives  must  first  bring  all  fresh 
foods  to  him  and  we  get  what's  left,  which  is  often  noth 
ing.  The  Commandant  puts  away  a  litre  of  absinthe 
a  day." 

"  How  much  do  you  guzzle?  "  jibed  Sadler. 

Again  Moore  ignored  the  little  skipper,  and  went  on: 

"  The  Commandant  looks  like  a  puffed-up  poodle  dog, 
with  his  thick  lips  and  waxed,  upturned  mustachios. 
His  pop  eyes  are  rimmed  with  black  circles ;  kidneys  are 
worked  out  by  too  many  spirits.  Parlez-vous  franfais, 
M'sieu  Huntingdon?  "  Moore's  pronunciation  was 
flat,  purely  Anglo-Saxon. 

"  Out,  Monsieur,  je  il  parle  bien  couramment,"  and 

1  The  Fried  Potatoes  —  a  derisive  term  for  the  French. 


86  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

so  truly  French  was  Huntingdon's  pronunciation  and 
so  easily  came  the  words  that  Sadler  taunted  Moore 
about  his  bastard  French  and  advised  him  to  stick  to 
English. 

Moore  retorted  by  calling  Sadler  a  beggar  and  chiding 
him  for  receiving  the  Great  White  King  (pronounced 
with  great  sarcasm)  in  tattered  khaki.  "  If  you  ain't 
got  the  price  to  get  the  Loango  tailor  to  make  you  some 
new  clothes,  I'll  lend  it  to  you." 

"  Thanks,  Angel  Face,  but  I've  no  desire  to  wear  na 
tive-made  clothes  and  appear  the  scarecrow  the  sky-pilots 
are.  They  can  wear  nigger  clothes,  but  I  won't  —  and 
that  reminds  me,  the  sky-pilots  are  coming  down  from 
Lambarene  to  the  Rest  House  here." 

"  Well,  I  guess  they  won't  stay  long ;  we'll  make  the 
atmosphere  so  blue  that  they'll  run  back  to  the  bush  in 
a  hurry,"  Moore  threatened. 

"  As  they  live  right  next  door  to  you,  Purest  of  Men, 
one  glance  at  you  and  your  fat  slob  nigger  wench'll  turn 
the  trick." 

"  What  missionaries  are  coming  down,  Sadler? " 
Smithson  demanded.  "  The  bachelor  with  the  snaky 
eyes  or  the  bride  and  groom  ?  " 

"  Bachelor  nothing ! "  Moore  cut  in  derisively. 
"  He's  got  his  black  beauty  just  the  same  as  the  rest 
of  us ;  as  for  the  bride  and  groom,  they  may  call  them 
selves  that  but  everybody  knows  the  lady's  an  old  hand 
at  spoon-palaver.  She  came  out  here  some  time  ago 
and  she  went  from  mission  to  mission,  trying  marriage 
a  la  carte  with  the  sky-pilots  until  M'sieu  Leon  hitched 
up  with  her." 

"  Moore,  I  wouldn't  have  your  putrid  mind  for  all 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  87 

the  revenue  of  the  French  Congo,"  and  deep  disgust  was 
in  Smithson's  tones. 

"  Revenue  of  the  French  Congo !  "  Moore  sneered. 
"  It's  bankrupt,  the  Pomme-de-terre-frits  don't  make 
enough  money  to  pay  running  expenses,  so  every  colonial 
official  goes  it  for  himself,  grinding  the  natives  to  ab 
ject  poverty  and  getting  all  he  can  for  himself  because 
he  fears  he  won't  get  his  salary.  I  haven't  been  in 
trade  out  here  ten  years  without  finding  out  some  things ; 
this  trade  war  between  the  French  and  the  natives  ain't 
ended  by  a  long  shot.  I  presume  you've  heard  tell  of 
it,  Huntingdon?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  All  England  is  interested  wherever  her 
trade  is  hit." 

"  And  it's  hit,  all  right,"  Moore  went  on.  "  In  dis 
tricts  not  declared  open  to  trade  by  the  Berlin  act, 
British  and  other  traders  have  been  driven  out  and  they'd 
been  here  ages  before  the  Pomme-de-terre-frits  were  ever 
thought  of  and  they  brought  with  them  the  only  civiliza 
tion  that  ever  came  to  those  places.  You've  no  idea, 
Huntingdon,  of  the  poverty  of  this  colony  ;  natives  are 
reduced  to  the  slavery  of  beggary  and  dependents  where 
they  were  once  contented  and  masters." 

"  Is  Cape  Lopez  affected?  "  asked  Huntingdon. 

Moore  was  lighting  a  cigar  and  Smithson  answered : 

"  Yes,  and  no ;  trade  can't  be  restricted  here  because 
of  the  Berlin  act,  but  because  of  the  closing  of  British 
factories  in  other  districts,  naturally  less  imports  are 
brought  in  and  less  exports  go  out  of  Cape  Lopez  —  you 
know  Cape  Lopez  would  have  no  existence  whatsoever 
were  it  not  the  coast  outlet  for  the  Ogowe,  the  greatest 
strictly  equatorial  river  in  the  world,  flowing,  as  it  does, 


88  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

hundreds  of  miles  along  the  equator  through  forests 
rich  in  rubber,  ivory,  palm  oil  and  timber.  Oh,  you've 
struck  the  right  territory,  Mr.  Huntingdon,  to  make 
money  out  of  trade,  if  you'll  hang  on  and  not  get  dis 
couraged  —  but  — "  Smithson's  voice  died  away  ;  into 
his  eyes  came  a  great  weariness  and  his  whole  figure 
drooped  pitifully. 

Sadler  tried  to  cover  up  his  friend's  misery  by  bel 
lowing:  "What's  the  matter  with  chop?  It's  past 
eight.  Come  on,  Smithson,  let's  see  what  the  palaver 
is." 

"  Rum,"  Moore  chortled  as  the  two  men  disappeared. 
"  You  bet  your  life  I  don't  permit  such  slackness  around 
my  place.  Chop  with  me  to-morrow  night,  Hunting 
don,  and  I'll  show  you  how  to  run  a  place." 

"  Thanks,  Mr.  Moore,  but  I'll  see  first  what  the  other 
gentlemen  have  framed  up." 

"  They'll  come,  don't  fear.  They  never  miss  a  chance 
for  a  decent  feed ;  anyway,  we've  got  to  depend  on  each 
other  for  company ;  so  we  see  a  lot  of  each  other,  too 
damn  much  —  Smithson's  a  regular  fish-wife  for  gossip ; 
he  spreads  news  about  everybody  except  himself  and  he's 
mighty  close-lipped  about  that.  He's  come  down  in 
the  world,  it's  easy  to  see  that,  and  I  don't  believe 
Smithson's  his  real  name.  You  can  see  he's  a  gentle 
man  for  he  spouts  every  lingo  under  the  sun,  but  he  is 
an  all-fired  gossip." 

Moore  waited  for  Huntingdon  to  ask  questions,  to 
exchange  gossip  with  him,  at  least  to  express  an  opinion, 
but  Huntingdon  was  silent. 

"  Last  dry  season,"  went  on  Moore,  "  we  had  the  great 
and  unusual  excitement  of  having  two  white  ladies  here 


89 

at  the  same  time:  wives  of  the  Gourmand  and  the  Com 
mandant.  Oh,  Mamma !  but  they  had  a  rummy  time ; 
I  suspicion  there  was  an  exchange  of  femmes,  but  noth 
ing  doing  so  far's  you  could  notice  it.  But,  you  savvy, 
virtue  with  the  Pomme-de-terre-frits  consists  in  not  be 
ing  found  out." 

Again  Moore  stopped,  expecting  Huntingdon  to  say 
something,  but  again  Moore  was  disappointed. 

"  Apropos  of  the  ladies,"  Moore  continued,  "  I  was 
sure  you'd  bring  a  black  beauty  down  with  you ;  nearly 
everybody  stationed  in  the  French  Congo  gets  a  Ga- 
bonaise  at  Libreville.  One  educated  at  the  American 
mission's  the  best ;  she's  taught  cleanliness  and  the  ways 
of  the  white  man ;  she  speaks  English,  French  and  the 
native  lingoes  and  she  can  help  you  a  lot  in  the  factory." 

"  What's  the  principal  tribe  about  here?  "  Hunting 
don  abruptly  demanded.  Moore's  gossip  did  not  in 
terest  him  save  where  it  conveyed  information  about  the 
country. 

"  Ouroungo,  but  don't  think  of  taking  one  of  their 
stinking,  ugly  women,"  Moore  answered  eagerly,  mis 
taking  Huntingdon's  interest.  "  They're  stupid  too, 
while  the  Gabonais  are  the  Jews  of  the  West  Coast  and 
you  can't  beat  'em  in  trade.  The  Commandant  has  a 
Gabonaise;  Ndio's  her  name.  Gad,  but  she's  a  pippin  ! 
She  can  have  me,  but  she  looks  higher  than  traders,  but 
why  don't  you  steal  her  from  the  Commandant?  You're 
of  the  nobility  and  she'll  come  a-running  for  you" 

"  Think  so?  "  and  Huntingdon's  sarcasm  was  so  fine 
that  Moore  didn't  get  it. 

"  Boots  and  Saddles !  There's  no  comparison  be 
tween  you  and  the  Commandant!  Everybody  knows 


90  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

you're  a  nabob,  out  here  to  learn  the  business  for  a  year, 
then  to  go  it  alone.  Say,  there's  puncheons  of  mone}' 
in  the  timber  business ;  forests're  simply  reeking  with 
valuable  lumber.  What  the  devil  do  you  want  to  grub 
for  old  man  Holt  for  a  whole  year?  Chuck  it;  I'll  tell 
you  how  to  go  it  alone,  only  I  must  keep  under  cover 
so's  not  to  lose  me  berth.  You  can  divide  with  me  sub 
rosa." 

Huntingdon  felt  like  kicking  Moore  out  of  his  sight. 
Instead  he  offered  him  a  delicious  Habana,  struck  a 
match,  and  held  it  until  Moore  got  the  tobacco  aglow ; 
then  he  drawled: 

"  Thanks,  Moore,  but  I've  one  year's  service  ahead  of 
me,  then  I'll  welcome  suggestions." 

"  Come  to  chop!  "  bellowed  Sadler. 

"  Chop's  generally  rotten,"  Moore  whispered,  "  and  to 
night  it'll  be  worse  for  there's  some  palaver  on." 

After  the  blackness  without,  the  light,  which  emanated 
from  a  huge,  oil  lamp  with  a  white  glass  shade  suspended 
low  over  the  dining  table,  was  blinding,  and  it  was  some 
seconds  before  Huntingdon's  eyes  accustomed  them 
selves  to  its  glare,  then  emphasized  were  the  table  and  its 
contents.  The  cloth  was  rumpled,  unclean  and  badly 
laid;  an  array  of  toothpicks,  catsup,  mustard,  salt  and 
pepper  bottles,  tins  containing  butter,  milk  and  marma 
lade,  a  huge  stack  of  thickly  cut  bread,  and  a 
battalion  of  wine,  whisky,  beer  and  cordial  bottles  were 
crowded  in  the  center  of  the  table  so  as  to  leave  space 
for  plates  and  the  rest  of  the  food. 

"  I'm  sorry,  Mr.  Huntingdon,"  Smithson  apologized, 
"  for  keeping  you  waiting  your  first  night  with  us,  but 
the  chef's  drunk." 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  91 

"  Don't  apologize,  Mr.  Smithson,"  answered  Hunting 
don,  heartily.  "  I  can  appreciate  how  it  is ;  I  dare 
say  the  best  native  servants  are  unreliable  — 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  broke  in  Moore.  "  Slack  master, 
slack  servants.  The  Commandant's  Loango's  the  best 
chef  in  the  whole  French  Congo.  Why  don't  you  steal 
him,  Sadler?  " 

Marked  sarcasm  was  in  Moore's  demand;  he  never 
dreamed  that  Sadler  would  take  him  up,  but  the  little 
skipper  promptly  boasted : 

"  He's  ours." 

"  Ah,  don't  count  your  chickens  before  they're 
hatched !  "  sneered  Moore. 

"  What  d'you  bet  I  can't  get  him?  " 

"  Anything  you  like." 

"  Anything  I  like,"  and  Sadler  imitated  Moore's  sar 
casm.  "  You  talk  as  though  you  owned  something. 
Make  it  a  tin  of  decent  cheroots." 

"  Cheroots  it  is  when  you  produce  the  chef  de  cuisine ." 

"  Leave  off  the  trimmings,  I'll  get  the  Loango." 

The  serviettes  and  the  plated-ware  were  borrowed 
from  Moore  and  bore  the  mark :  Chargeurs-Reunis. 

"  Moore,  you  old  thief,"  cried  little  Sadler.  "  Can't 
you  afford  stuff  without  stealing  from  the  steamship 
company  ?  " 

"  There're  not  mine ;  I  borrowed  them  from  the  Com 
mandant.  I  never  lend  my  outfit  to  anybody  —  I  know 
better." 

"  You  mean  you're  too  rotten  stingy  — 

"  Shut  up,  you  two,"  Smithson  commanded.  "  You 
never  meet  but  you  scrap ;  let's  at  least  have  our  meals  in 
peace." 


92  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Ngumbe  and  Mbega  served  dinner.  Ngumbe  wore  a 
fairly  clean  white  duck  coat,  buttoned  tight,  and  he 
proved  himself  an  efficient  servant,  but  Mbega  was  the 
bushboy  pure  and  simple.  His  cloth  was  tied  about 
his  neck  and  draped  only  the  front  of  his  body  leaving 
his  back  bare. 

He  attempted  to  hand  soup  across  Sadler  to  Hunting 
don.  Infuriated,  Sadler  struck  out,  sending  Mbega,  soup 
and  all,  to  the  floor,  his  head  coming  hard  against  Sad 
ler's  chair. 

"  You  Monkey-Face,"  raged  Sadler,  boisterously  as 
though  he  were  aboard  a  ship  in  a  gale  of  wind ;  then, 
catching  sight  of  Mbega's  filthy  hands,  he  rapped  him 
viciously  over  the  head,  and  bellowed :  "  Go  wash  'em, 
or  I'll  cut  'em  off." 

With  a  run  Mbega  made  for  the  galley.  He  returned 
wiping  his  hands  on  a  towel  stiff  with  dirt,  then  he 
rammed  the  towel  between  his  legs,  against  the  bare 
flesh! 

Cork  floated  in  Sadler's  wine.  He  dashed  the  wine  in 
Mbega's  face,  and  ordered  him  to  fetch  another  glass. 
The  bushboy  retired  to  the  shadows,  whisked  the  towel 
from  between  his  legs,  spat  in  the  glass,  rubbed  it  vigor 
ously  until  it  shone,  and  filled  it  with  clear  wine ! 

The  food  was  plentiful  and  of  good  quality,  but  it 
was  spoiled  in  the  preparing.  It  was  mostly  from  tins; 
the  exceptions  being  native  chicken  and  palm-cabbage. 
The  former  was  thin  and  tough  and  Sadler  complained 
that  a  sausage  machine  ought  to  be  served  with  it.  Palm- 
cabbage  is  the  root  of  the  palm  tree  and  while  it  has  a 
peculiar,  fine  flavor,  different  from  anything  Hunting 
don  had  ever  eaten,  and  is  palatable  and  refreshing, 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  93 

Huntingdon  regretted  that  a  beautiful,  graceful  palm 
is  sacrificed  that  man  might  eat  of  its  heart. 

"  Gad,"  cried  Moore  in  whose  soul  poetry  and  re 
finement  dwelt  not,  "  I'd  eat  my  fellow  man  rather  than 
starve,  wouldn't  you,  Huntingdon?" 

"  I  can't  say,  Mr.  Moore,  what  I  might  do  in  an  ex 
treme  case,  but  I  don't  think  I'd  voluntarily  starve  to 
death  if  I  could  find  any  sort  of  nourishment." 

"  People  in  civilization  make  me  sick,"  went  on  Moore 
sneeringly,  "  boasting  what  they'd  do  in  extreme  cases ! 
Much  they  know  what  it  is  to  be  hungry,  to  be  where 
you  can't  get  any  food  or  water  or  even  the  commonest 
things  of  life.  Gad,  they  ought  to  come  out  here  to  my 
first  station  at  Ninge-Ninge  — 

"  They  ought  to  have  been  with  me  in  the  Transvaal 
before  the  Boer  war  and  before  it  was  civilized  as  it  is 
now,  when  I  was  out  there  on  my  first  engineering  job," 
cut  in  Smithson,  but,  noticing  the  eager  curiosity  of 
Moore,  and  resenting  the  hateful,  familiar  manner  in 
which  he  drew  nearer  as  though  he  would  compel  con 
fession  from  his  lips,  Smithson  never  finished  what  he 
meant  to  say  and  Moore  lost  the  chance  of  hearing  the 
prettiest  bit  of  gossip  that  had  ever  come  his  way.  For, 
as  Moore  suspicioned,  Smithson  was  of  a  good  British 
family,  a  son  in  whom  parents'  hopes  were  high,  an 
Oxford  graduate  and  a  gentleman  by  birth,  but  — 
colonies  have  ruined  more  than  one  well-bred,  promising 
young  man,  and  they  will  continue  to  ruin  men  as  long 
as  colonies  are  what  they  are. 

"  So  you  were  in  the  Boer  war,  eh,  Smithson  — "  began 
Moore,  inquisitively,  but  affecting  drunkenness  Smith- 
son  sang: 


94 

Come  where  the  booze  is  cheaper, 
Come  where  the  mugs  hold  more, 
Come  where  the  boss  is  a  bit  of  a  joss, 
Let's  go  to  the  pub  next  door. 

Ngumbe  was  pouring  out  black  coffee  and  Moore 
yelled : 

"  I  want  tea  !  " 

"  Yes,  give  'im  tea,"  answered  Sadler,  "  he  ain't  used 
to  anything  else.  Hatton  &  Cookson  feed  their  men  tea 
because  it's  cheaper  — 

"  You're  a  liar,"  screamed  Moore.  "  Hatton's  much 
better  to  his  men  than  old  man  Holt  is  —  and  we  were 
the  first  on  this  coast,  too  — 

"  Yes,  you  were  slavers,  that's  what  you  were,"  taunted 
little  Sadler. 

The  drinks  were  telling  on  the  men  and  their  tempers 
were  ugly. 

"  So  would  Holt  have  been  if  he  had  been  out  in  them 
days  — 

"  Hatton  still  employs  slaves  — 

"  What  the  devil's  the  difference  who  niggers  belong 
to  so  long  as  they  work ;  anyhow,  Smithson  knows  that 
an  old-fashioned  slave's  a  better  workman  than  the  gen 
eral  run  of  native  to-day,  ain't  it  so,  Smithson  ?  " 

"  True  palaver,  Moore.  I  say,  Huntingdon,  I 
wouldn't  have  a  mission  nigger  about  the  place  if  I  were 
you,"  and  again  the  traders  broke  forth  in  denunciation 
of  missionaries  making  old  Wallace's  accusations  mild 
in  comparison. 

'Twas  midnight  when  Moore  demanded: 

"  Gig  ready,  Smithson?  " 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  95 

"  No.  Boys  had  a  mighty  big  cargo  to  take  off  the 
Nigeria  to-day ;  they're  in  bed.  Mbega  can  light  you 
home." 

"  If  I  had  known  you'd  be  so  bally  careful  of  your 
niggers  I'd  have  had  mine  wait  —  nice  way  to  treat  a 
guest  —  g'wan  —  '  and  he  roughly  shoved  Mbega  in 
front  of  him. 

"  Good  night,  sweet  one,"  rollicked  little  Sadler. 

Moore's  retort  was  a  long,  vociferous  oath,  and  Sadler 
broke  forth  in  the  cockney  ballad: 

If  her  eyes  could  only  smile, 
If  her  lips  could  only  speak, 
But  she's  only  a  beautiful  picture 
In  a  beautiful  golden  frame. 

As  Huntingdon  entered  his  sleeping  room,  little  Sadler 
cried : 

"  I  say,  tenderfoot,  don't  forget  to  shake  the  sheets, 
sleep  on  your  shoes  and  don't  walk  about  in  bare  feet. 
Scorpions,  centipedes,  snakes,  roaches,  and  the  terror 
that  biteth  by  night  are  abroad  —  but  happy  dreams,  if 
you  can  get  them." 

To  be  transplanted  from  the  niceties  and  refinements 
of  an  exquisite,  civilized  home  to  superlative  crudity  and 
disorder  and  uncleanliness,  is  harsh  and  contrastly,  but, 
as  Huntingdon  tucked  the  worse-for-wear  mosquito  bar 
under  a  none-too-clean  mattress,  he  muttered: 

"  It's  certainly  opera  bouffe  with  all  its  trimmings. 
I  wonder  what  Marjorie  and  the  mater  would  say  could 
they  see  me  now,  but  what  people  don't  know  can't  keep 
them  awake." 


96  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

The  terror  that  biteth  by  night,  however,  did  keep 
Huntingdon  awake,  until  he  took  several  big  drinks  of 
whisky,  which,  combined  with  all  he  had  drunk  during 
the  evening,  stupefied  him  so  that  he  was  oblivious  to 
everything. 


HUNTINGDON  awoke  early.  He  always  did  when  he 
drank  too  much.  He  ordered  Ngumbe  to  bring  him  a 
cold  tub.  The  water  was  none  too  clean  nor  was  there 
much  of  it.  Huntingdon  emptied  a  whole  bottle  of  violet 
ammonia  into  it,  which  caused  Ngumbe  to  sniff  vigor 
ously  and  remark : 

"  Them  scent  be  plenty  fine  too  much.  How  much  he 
cost,  master?  " 

"  I  no  savvy,  Ngumbe,"  answered  Huntingdon,  kindly, 
closing  the  door. 

"  Master,"  and  Ngumbe's  head  was  stuck  through  the 
open  window,  "  sundown  be  proper  time  for  bath  for 
white  man  and  water  must  be  hot." 

"  Thanks,  Ngumbe,  but  go  away  now,  I  wish  to  be 
alone." 

"  Me,  I  savvy  white  man  palaver,  plenty,  plenty ;  me, 
I  be  proper  boy  for  Mister  Huntingdon,  the  Great 
White  King,"  and  Ngumbe  hastened  to  the  galley  to 
describe  to  the  other  servants  that  the  Great  White  King 
bathed  in  a  whole  tub  of  scent,  that  his  underwear  was 
past  anything  for  fine  he  had  ever  seen,  and  that  the 
Great  White  King  had  begged  him  to  be  his  own  special 
boy,  all  of  which  was  swallowed  as  truth  by  the  others 
and  Ngumbe  was  considered  a  very  superior  creature  in 
deed! 

97 


98  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Feeling  fit  and  fresh  after  his  bath,  Huntingdon 
sauntered  to  the  beach. 

The  early  morning  was  plaintive.  The  skies  were  a 
soft  blue,  so  characteristic  of  the  equator,  and  the  waters 
of  the  bay  reflected  them. 

It  seemed  a  long,  long  while  before  sunrise,  but,  grad 
ually,  water  and  skies  took  on  warmer  hues  and  in  the 
east  a  tinge  of  gold  appeared,  communicating  itself  to 
all  nature  by  ribbons  thrown  from  a  common  center. 
Then  rapidly  growing  brighter  and  brighter,  they  con 
verged  in  a  spot  on  the  ocean's  brim  from  whence  there 
suddenly  leaped  a  ball  of  brilliant  fire,  blinding  and  mag 
nificent,  as  the  Sun  rose  majestically  into  his  kingdom! 

The  soul  of  Huntingdon  responded  to  Nature's 
ecstatic  call.  He  drank  in  great  draughts  of  the  salt 
laden  air;  he  gazed  into  space  unoccupied  and  silent; 
he  recognized  the  great  difference  between  active  Eu 
rope  and  somnambulant  Africa.  Marked  was  the  absence 
of  the  rush,  rattle  and  roar  of  civilization,  the  throb  of 
incessant  life  beating  with  a  defined  purpose ;  there  were 
no  streets,  roads,  houses,  beasts  of  burden  and  vehicles; 
no  monotonous  round  of  engagement  keeping  to  be  en 
dured,  no  heavy,  sombre  clothing  to  be  worn ;  there  was 
naught  but  freedom,  total,  absolute  freedom.  Hunting 
don  threw  out  his  arms  and  embraced  the  whole  world. 
He  was  as  a  man  released  from  long  imprisonment.  He 
read  no  menace  in  the  absence  of  the  things  to  which  he 
was  accustomed ;  he  knew  only  the  ecstasy  of  the  pres 
ent;  he  was  thankful  that  there  were  no  distractions  to 
interfere  with  his  learning  the  business  which  had 
brought  him  there;  he  was  anxious  to  begin  work  at 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  99 

once  for  every  moment  well-spent  brought  him  nearer 
Marjorie  and  happiness. 

The  brilliant  sunlight  showed  up  the  bungalow  in  all 
its  sordidness.  Last  night's  shadows  had  been  kind,  but 
again  Huntingdon  reflected  that  everything  would  be 
cleaned  and  put  in  decent  shape  when  Smithson  left  and 
he  was  in  full  charge. 

For  the  present  Huntingdon  was  content  with  ordering 
everything  from  his  bedroom,  having  it  cleansed  thor 
oughly  and  his  own  things  set  up  therein. 

Untubbed  and  slattern,  Smithson  and  Sadler  came  to 
the  breakfast  table.  Smithson's  pallor  was  distressing; 
his  khakis  were  old  and  soiled;  his  coat  was  minus  but 
tons,  exposing  an  indifferent  singlet.  His  breakfast  was 
an  enormous  dose  of  quinine,  coffee  and  brandy. 

Sadler  yelled  loud  for  fruit  salts ;  and,  clouting 
Ngumbe  over  the  head  for  failing  to  put  them  on  the 
table,  he  shoved  the  quinine  towards  Huntingdon,  yell 
ing: 

"  Take  that  dope  and  become  like  Smithson :  a  corpse 
walking  'round  to  save  funeral  expenses." 

Huntingdon  took  the  drug  because  physicians  had 
told  him  he  must  if  he  would  preserve  his  health. 

Bad  as  was  the  dinner  the  night  before  and  wretched 
the  service,  breakfast  was  worse.  Huntingdon  recog 
nized  that  some  attempt  at  improvement  had  been  made 
on  his  arrival.  Now  that  he  was  installed,  he  could  take 
things  as  they  came.  The  only  things  fit  to  eat  were 
the  native-grown  coffee,  which  he  took  black,  and  the 
papayes.  The  latter  were  large,  luscious,  and  delicious. 

After  breakfast,  Sadler  brought  forth  a  pair  of  scis- 


100  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

sors  and  on  the  front  veranda  he  proceeded  to  cut  Hunt 
ingdon's  hair. 

Holt's  creissboys  and  passing  natives  gathered  and 
in  silence  they  intently  gazed  upon  the  curling,  blond 
locks  which  fell  slowly  and  unevenly  from  the  dull  scis 
sors.  Never  before  had  they  beheld  hair  which  shone 
like  the  sun  and  curled  like  the  young  bamboo  palms ; 
it  must  be  indeed  the  distinguishing  mark  of  a  Great 
White  King ! 

Sadler  fully  appreciated  its  effect  upon  the  super 
stitious  savages,  and,  in  solemn  tones,  he  decanted  upon 
the  value  of  the  hair  as  a  charm  to  ward  off  all  evil. 
No  death  could  come  to  its  wearer  from  secret  poisons 
or  wild  beasts ;  sterile  women  were  made  to  bring  forth 
young;  a  mother  could  have  a  man  or  a  woman  child, 
whichever  she  preferred ;  enemies  were  indicated ;  theft 
guarded  against ;  indifferent  beaux  were  seized  with  con 
suming  love  for  him  or  her  who  would  be  adored;  the 
sick  were  healed;  the  afflicted  were  comforted;  the  blind 
were  caused  to  see ;  the  lame  to  walk ;  in  short,  the  hair 
of  the  Great  White  King  was  a  charm  more  potent  than 
any  concocted  by  native  sorcerers  and  witch  doctors  and 
much  cheaper ! 

Credulous  as  babes,  the  savages  eagerly  devoured 
every  word  that  fell  from  the  white  wag's  lips. 

Sickness,  death  and  bad  luck  of  any  sort  are  but  dif 
ferent  manifestations  of  ju-ju  and  charms  are  the  only 
safe-guard  against  them. 

Huntingdon  essayed  a  laugh,  but  a  sharp  poke  in  his 
neck  from  the  scissors  caused  him  to  desist.  Out 
stretched  on  a  steamer  chair,  his  eyes  half  closed  mask 
ing  his  amusement,  lay  Smithson.  He  loved  the  little 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  101 

skipper  and  was  happiest  when  he  played  the  mounte 
bank. 

The  first  native  to  recover  after  Sadler's  decantation 
was  the  officious  Ngumbe.  He  demanded  the  magic  hair 
of  the  Great  White  King.  But,  shoving  him  aside,  Sad 
ler  bade  the  giant,  Sunlight,  carefully  gather  up  the  hair 
and  sell  it  for  a  shilling  the  charm.  The  giant  tucked 
away  in  his  cloth  a  handful  of  hair  for  his  own  use  and 
in  the  native  town  beyond  he  sold  the  rest  of  it  for  clay 
pipes,  leaves  of  tobacco,  boxes  of  matches  and  plates 
of  salt. 

Huntingdon  eagerly  sought  a  mirror.  He  laughed  at 
his  appearance;  it  completely  altered  his  looks,  and  he 
felt  sort  of  queer,  yet  comfort  must  be  had  at  any  price. 

"  I'll  make  a  trader*  out  of  Sunlight  yet,"  Sadler 
boasted. 

"  Better  teach  him  English  first,"  Smithson  advised. 
"  I  presume  you've  recognized,  Mr.  Huntingdon,  that 
pidgin  English  is  a  language  in  itself  and  it's  astonish 
ing  how  prevalent  it  is  in  the  bush,  going  to  prove  that 
we  British  were  the  first  to  carry  trade,  hence  civilization, 
into  the  interior  and  our  being  ousted  by  the  French  is 
indeed  a  great  calamity.  King  Leopold's  the  head  of 
this  restricted  trade  rumpus.  Not  content  with  his  mal 
treatment  of  the  natives  in  his  private  domain,  the  Congo 
Beige,  he  has  butted  in  here,  ousting  out  everybody  else 
but  the  French  companies  which  he  controls.  'Tis  true 
that  Hatton  and  Cookson  and  Holt  have  secured  dam 
ages  in  the  courts  of  Europe  for  loss  of  trade,  but  those 
damages  are  nothing  in  comparison  to  what  the  trade 
is  really  worth  —  but,  come  along,  I'll  show  you  over 
the  factory,  then  we  must  make  official  calls." 


102  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

The  tin  roof  of  the  factory  made  it  hot  and  the  win 
dows  were  few  and  afforded  little  ventilation.  The  floor 
was  of  dirt,  which  Sadler  said  was  filled  with  jiggers  and 
other  "  bally  "  tortures.  A  small  selling  space  was  par 
titioned  off  in  front  where  goods  were  displayed,  and 
the  rear  was  used  as  a  storeroom. 

Itula,  the  shop  boy,  clad  in  neat  khaki,  was  young 
and  spoke  intelligent  English.  He  immediately  rec 
ognized  in  Huntingdon  a  man  worthy  of  respect  and 
homage,  while  Huntingdon  was  agreeably  surprised  in 
Itula  and  pleased  to  have  such  a  valuable  assistant. 

A  decrepit  old  native  followed  Huntingdon  into  the 
factory  and  began  to  whine : 

"  I  be  proper  frien'  f er  Inglees,"  but  Sadler  warned : 

"  Pay  no  attention  to  him,  Huntingdon,  he's  getting 
ready  to  strike  you  for  a  dash.1  Come  on  back  and  look 
the  storeroom  over." 

The  place  was  dark  and  Huntingdon  stumbled  over  a 
pile  of  something  soft,  which  Sadler  explained  was 
crude  rubber.  Huntingdon  took  a  handful  of  it  to  the 
light  to  examine  it.  It  was  in  small  balls,  of  a  dirty 
white  color  and  of  unpleasant  odor.  Smithson  ex 
plained  the  method  of  gathering  it  and  the  prevailing 
market  price.  He  decried  the  ruthless  destruction  of 
rubber  vines  and  trees  by  the  natives  and  the  French 
lack  of  foresight  in  not  insisting  upon  the  nurturing  of 
old  vines  and  trees,  and  the  planting  of  new  ones. 
More  vines  and  trees  were  destroyed  in  one  year  than 
could  be  grown  in  ten.  "  The  French  are  not  coloniz 
ers,"  was  Smithson's  final  remark. 

"  I     thought     they     were,"     answered     Huntingdon. 

i  Gift,  tip. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  103 

"  Algiers  is  mightily  improved  under  the  French,  I  hear 
the  Senegal  is  too,  and  look  at  Madagascar  — " 

"  I've  been  in  Algiers,  Madagascar  and  the  Senegal," 
answered  Smithson.  "  They're  not  so  well  governed  as 
they  might  be;  their  interiors  continue  pretty  much  in 
their  primitive  states.  As  for  the  French  Congo,  did 
you  go  ashore  at  Libreville,  the  capital  of  Gaboon?  " 

"  No." 

"  It  and  Brazzaville  on  the  Congo  River  are  dead  as 
door  nails ;  and  immediately  outside  of  those  two  ports, 
bush  and  savagery  still  hold  sway.  Trade's  fallen  off 
enormously  and  the  French  are  too  short-sighted  to  rec 
ognize  that  it's  all  from  their  own  acts.  You  can't 
force  a  monopoly  in  anything  but  absolute  necessities. 
The  black  man  can  get  along  without  the  white  man ; 
he  has  demonstrated  it  by  his  life  ages  before  he  ever 
saw  a  white  man,  but  the  latter  must  have  the  co 
operation  of  the  negro.  The  French  have  made  and  are 
daily  making  great  mistakes.  Because  the  government 
has,  without  the  leave  of  the  native,  granted  exclusive 
trading  concessions  on  land  which  has  belonged  to  the 
natives  from  time  out  of  mind,  and  because  the  con 
cessionaires  charge  the  natives  with  theft  if  they  fell 
timber  or  hunt  ivory,  the  negroes  hide  from  the  govern 
ment  and  refuse  to  trade  with  the  concessionaires.  And 
the  result?  Chaos  all  'round.  The  natives  sit  idle  in 
their  native  towns  surrounded  by  worse  conditions  than 
existed  before  a  white  man  came  among  them.  For  up 
wards  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  years  in  some  districts 
open  trade  has  been  established;  the  white  man  became 
a  necessity ;  the  natives  became  dependent  upon  him ; 
they  were  content  to  gather  their  products  and  exchange 


104  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

them  for  the  trinkets  of  civilization,  absolutely  no  use  to 
them ;  but  suddenly  competitive  trade  was  forced  out  and 
the  monopolists  not  only  put  up  the  prices  of  well-known 
imports  but  substitute  in  their  stead  unknown  inferior 
products  at  superior  prices !  Accused  of  theft  by  the 
concessionaires,  and  punished  therefor  by  the  govern 
ment,  the  natives  are  reduced  to  absolute  beggary.  They 
have  nothing,  yet  out  of  nothing  they  are  expected  to 
pay  an  annual  tax  to  the  government!  Now  the  con 
cessionaires  accuse  the  government  of  having  taken 
them  in,  of  demanding  an  exorbitant  price  for  terri 
tories  already  worked  out." 

"  Are  the  concessions  really  worked  out,  Smithson?  " 

"  No.  They're  destroyed,  as  I've  explained,  but 
plantations  of  rubber  and  oil-palms  can  be  made  and 
nurtured  and  the  yield  will  be  great ;  but,  of  course, 
it  takes  time,  and  the  French  have  so  impoverished  them 
selves  by  bad  management  that  they  can't  afford  to  wait, 
hence  government  and  the  concessions  are  bankrupt. 
Come  on,  we  must  make  those  calls,  otherwise  your  kit 
might  be  searched  and  your  firearms  and  ammunition 
confiscated  no  matter  what  papers  you  have  from  the 
Government  at  Paris." 

The  white  men  had  scarce  left  the  factory,  when 
Makaya,  the  Commandant's  chef  slouched  in.  Sadler 
immediately  sent  Itula  on  a  errand  to  a  bush  town  which 
would  require  some  hours'  time.  He  wanted  to  be  alone 
with  the  Loango. 

Makaya  was  undersized,  greasy  and  crafty ;  his  front 
teeth  were  out  and  through  them  his  tongue  showed  like 
a  strip  of  red  calico.  He  wore  a  flannel  nightshirt, 
much  too  large,  stuffed  into  a  pair  of  balloon  Turkish 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  105 

trousers  of  red  and  blue  striped  madras  drawn  tight 
about  his  thin  waist  by  a  broad,  leather  belt.  He  was 
about  thirty-five  years  of  age  and  smug  with  the  sat 
isfaction  of  a  lady-killer.  For  Makaya,  chef  to  the 
Commandant,  was  an  attractive  dandy  to  the  ladies  of 
Cape  Lopez.  His  bump  of  conceit  was  inordinately  de 
veloped  and  tricky  Sadler  turned  a  stream  of  seduction 
full  upon  it. 

Makaya  wanted  two  fathoms  of  British  print  goods. 

Generally,  the  natives  had  to  take  what  Sadler  gave 
them.  But  Makaya  was  permitted  to  make  a  selection 
from  a  number  of  pieces,  while  Sadler  said,  flatteringly : 

"  Makaya,  you  certainly  are  a  measly-looking  mut, 
but  you  can  chef  to  the  king's  own  taste,  blow  me  pipes 
if  you  can't." 

Makaya  puffed  up  like  a  pock-marked  frog  under  the 
downpour  of  the  white  man's  guile.  He  squirmed  in  his 
balloon  trousers ;  he  shoved  his  hands  into  his  pockets ; 
he  rolled  his  tongue  about  his  open  mouth  and  his  little 
eyes  gleamed  with  satisfaction,  but  he  said  nothing. 

"  Makaya,  you  look  them  Great  White  King  what 
come  for  beach  yesterday  and  what  just  now  take  walk 
with  Master  Smithson  ?  " 

"  I  look  um,  Master  Sadler.  Him  be  fine  pas'  French- 
mans." 

"  Him  be  fine  pas'  all  white  man ;  "  boasted  Sadler. 
"  Him  be  big  king  for  him  country  —  big  —  white  — 
king.     You  savvy  king,  Makaya?  " 

"  Sure  I  savvy.  He  pas'  chief.  He  pas'  everybody 
for  fine." 

"  King  Huntingdon  him  say  to  me,  '  Master  Sadler, 
you  fit  for  find  me  chef,  proper  chef?  '  '  I  fit,  Great 


106  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

White  King,'  I  tell  him.  I  fit  for  make  book  1  to  send  to 
Loango  for  get  cook  to  come  for  the  Great  White 
King."  Suddenly  Sadler  shut  off  the  guile,  and  de 
manded  : 

"  What  else  does  Makaya,  chef  to  Commandant, 
want?  " 

"  Stink  water." 

Sadler  handed  out  a  bottle  of  perfume  so  strong  that 
it  screamed  through  the  cork. 

The  Loango  sniffed  it  repeatedly,  asked  the  price  of 
it  and  stowed  it  in  his  shirt. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Sadler,  "  I  go  now  for  make  book 
for  Loango  cook  to  come.  You  fit  to  take  them  book 
to  post  office?  "  And  Sadler  reached  for  a  box  of  letter 
paper. 

"  Master  Sadler?  " 

"  Umph,  you  want  buy  something  more?  "  asked  the 
guileless  one,  knowing  well  what  was  in  the  mind  of  the 
Loango. 

"  Me,  Makaya,  Loango,  chef  to  Commandant,  I  fit  for 
chef  for  Great  White  King." 

"  Sure,  Loango,  chef  for  Commandant,  fit  for  chef 
for  Great  White  King.  But  Commandant  he  never  lef 
Makaya  go.  And  me,  I  never  thief  other  white  man's 
chef;  "  and  in  Sadler's  big  blue  eyes  was  the  innocence 
of  a  suckling  babe. 

"  Them  Commandant  him  pay  me  thirty  francs 
month." 

"  'Thirty  francs  a  month! '  For  a  Loango  chef?  " 
Emphasized  was  Sadler's  contempt,  followed  by  the 
boast :  "  Great  White  King  him  pay  thirty-five  francs 

i  Letter. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  107 

and  him  dash,  plenty,  plenty  stink  water  and  pomade, 
rum  and  tacco  every  Saturday  night  t  Him  live  jus'  fer 
dash  him  chef.  Him  be  big  king,  proper  king." 

The  Loango  leaned  over  the  counter  and  asked  ear 
nestly  : 

"  You  look  um  say  so  ?  " 

"  Umph !  My  mouth  him  never  mek  lie-palaver.  But 
Makaya  he  prefer  chef  for  them  Commandant" 

"  Me  I  fear  them  chicotte.1  Frenchmens  mek  plenty 
chicotte-pa.]a,ver." 

"  And  Loango  him  like  them  palaver  and  him  stay  by 
Frenchman,"  sneered  Sadler. 

The  Loango  ignored  the  sneer,  and  complained: 

"  Messure  Commandant,  him  no  cadeau  2  me  lavande 
and  rum." 

"  Them  French  no  be  proper  master,"  condemned  Sad 
ler.  "  King  Huntingdon  cadeau  all  him  peoples  stink 
water,  plenty,  plenty,  and  rum,  good,  stiff,  British  rum ! 
It  pas'  absinthe  for  fine,"  and  Sadler  smacked  his 
lips. 

"  Me,  I  never  look  um  so,"  confessed  the  Loango, 
sadly. 

"  Never  look  proper  rum,  rum  pas'  absinthe  for  fine ! 
Poor  Makaya,  chef  Loango.  That's  because  him  never 
chef  for  proper  master.  French  no  be  proper  master 
for  black  man.  Him  give  black  man  rot-gut  all  time. 
Rot-gut  fit  only  fer  nigger.3  White  King  fit  cadeau  him 
chef,  proper  rum." 

1  French  for  cashing-go. 

2  Gift. 

3  Slave.    Term  of  great  opprobrium.    To  apply  it  to  a  free  na 
tive  is  apt  to  bring  serious  results. 


108  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

"  Him  cadeau  him  chef  rum,  rum  all  same  white  man 
takes?"  and  Makaya's  eyes  blazed  with  incredulity. 

"  Sure." 

"  How  much  them  rum  cost?  " 

"  Ah,  gwan,  French  master  never  pay  you  plenty 
money  for  buy  proper  English  rum." 

"  Lemme  look  what  them  bottles  look  like." 

Sadler  brought  out  an  unlabelled  bottle.  It  was  the 
vilest  rum  in  stock. 

"  White  man  take  him  ?  "  and  Makaya  puckered  his 
cracked  black  lips. 

"  Sure  white  man  take  him.  I'll  have  one  now,"  and 
Sadler  raised  the  bottle  to  his  mouth. 

Makaya  passed  the  back  of  his  hand  over  his  dry 
lips,  and  gasped,  hungrily : 

"  Him  be  fine,  pas'  absinthe  for  fine?  " 

"  Taste  him  and  see,"  and  suddenly  Sadler  held  out 
the  bottle. 

Taken  by  surprise  the  Loango  cried: 

"  Me  drink  all  same  as  Master  Sadler  — " 

''  Yes,  and  all  same  rum  what  King  Huntingdon 
drink.  Put  him  for  belly  !  " 

Makaya  took  a  tremendous  draught. 

It  nearly  suffocated  him,  proof  though  he  was  against 
most  trade  stuff. 

"  Ain't  he  fine,  Makaya,"  and  Sadler  brought  down 
his  fist  hard  on  the  Loango's  shoulder.  "  Don't  he  pas' 
absinthe  for  strong?  " 

"  He  pas'  all  things  for  strong,"  choked  Makaya 
through  his  burning  esophagus.  "  King  Huntingdon, 
him  take  um?  " 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  109 

"  Sure.  White  man  throat  be  strong,  strong, 
STRONG!  " 

Makaya  reluctantly  handed  back  the  bottle. 

"  Keep  him.  Plenty  more  live  for  inside,"  and  Sadler 
gestured  magnanimously  towards  the  storeroom.  Sud 
denly,  he  doubled  up,  rubbed  his  stomach  and  in  agony 
cried:  "  Oh,  Makaya,  Master  Sadler  he  ketch  sick  for 
belly.  He  fit  get  medceen.  Wait !  "  and  Sadler  plunged 
into  the  storeroom. 

Left  alone,  Makaya  did  what  Sadler  wished  him  to 
do.  He  drank  again  and  again  of  the  fiery  liquid. 

When  Sadler  reappeared,  Makaya  swayed  uncer 
tainly. 

"  Makaya  him  sick  for  head?  "  asked  the  guileless  one 
in  pronounced  sympathy.  "  Them  rum  fix  you  up,  have 
some  more." 

Again  Makaya  drank  greedily,  then  he  thrust  the 
almost  empty  bottle  into  his  shirt  and  started  towards 
the  door,  but  he  was  so  drunk  he  stumbled  into  a  pile  of 
stone-china  dishes  and  sank  among  the  debris. 

Sadler  closed  his  fists.  He  wanted  to  pommel  the 
drunken  brute,  but  he  controlled  himself.  He  had  an 
end  to  gain. 

Makaya  looked  stupidly  at  Sadler;  his  eyes  blinked; 
his  red  slit  of  a  tongue  protruded  restlessly,  and  from 
his  shirt  ran  two  streams ;  one  of  rum  and  the  other  of 
perfume.  The  clash  of  odors  was  sickening,  and  Ma- 
kaya's  head  wobbled  over  the  fumes,  then  he  fell  face 
down  among  the  broken  dishes. 

Sadler  dragged  him  into  the  storeroom,  deposited 
him  behind  some  barrels,  then  chortled: 


110  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

"  You  beast,  if  the  rats  don't  eat  you,  I  guess  we'll 
have  a  proper  cook.  You'll  sleep  past  the  Comman 
dant's  dinner  time  and  you'll  be  too  jolly  well  scared 
to  brave  his  wrath.  Allans,  as  the  Frog-eaters  say." 
Little  Sadler  lightly  kissed  the  tips  of  his  fingers 
and  returned  to  the  front  of  the  factory.  He  lived  in 
a  gale  of  jollity  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  But  it  was 
morning  before  Makaya  regained  full  consciousness. 
The  wretch  cried  out  his  fear  of  the  Commandant  and 
begged  Sadler  to  get  the  Great  White  King  to  protect 
him.  After  much  importuning  and  many,  many  prom 
ises  from  the  Loango  never  to  drink  again  and  to  live 
only  to  cook  the  finest  dishes  white  men  ever  put  into 
his  mouth,  Sadler  magnanimously  promised  that  King 
Huntingdon  would  protect  "  the  Loango  chef,  Makaya, 
from  the  wrath  of  the  Commandant  and  the  whole  damn 
French  Army !  " 

Sadler  didn't  believe  in  doing  things  by  halves  and 
Makaya's  seduction  and  abduction  were  a  fact  accom 
plished. 


CHAPTER  VII 

IN  the  meantime  Smithson  and  Huntingdon  were  pro 
ceeding  on  their  official  calls.  The  sand  was  so  heavy 
that  it  was  too  much  for  Huntingdon,  and,  weak  though 
Smithson  was  and  consequently  slow  his  walking,  Hunt 
ingdon  could  not  keep  up  with  him.  Huntingdon's 
stiff  leather,  tan  shoes  with  thick  soles  were  dreadfully 
heavy  and  impeded  progress,  while  the  hot  sand  burned 
through  them  and  tortured  his  feet.  He  envied  Smith- 
son  his  light-weight,  tan,  soft-leather  mosquito  boots, 
which  reached  nearly  to  his  knees.  He  had  none  in  his 
kit  —  and  he  thought  he  had  brought  everything  he 
would  need.  Smithson  said  that  the  German  factory 
kept  the  boots  in  stock  and  advised  Huntingdon  to  get 
several  pairs  at  once. 

Few  natives  were  abroad;  they  stared  at  the  new 
comer  with  open  admiration,  then  pleasantly  greeted: 

"  Mbolane." 

"Aye  —  mbolane,"  responded  Smithson  continuing 
his  way. 

"  Aye,"  came  the  satisfied,  savage  grunt,  as  they  too 
continued  their  way,  looking  back  and  smiling,  satis 
fied  at  last  that  a  Great  White  King  had  come  to  dwell 
among  them.  They  sensed  the  difference  between  as 
sumed  tyranny  and  natural  supremacy.  They  may 
cringe  before  the  former  and  in  their  heart  vow  ven 
geance  against  it,  but  to  the  latter  they  tender  voluntary 

111 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

allegiance,  willing  service  and  fealty  —  so  far  as  they 
are  capable  of  faith  toward  any  white  man.  For 
when  it  comes  to  a  crisis  black  men  will  cling  together 
against  the  white  man  every  time.  Among  themselves 
they  are  great  respecters  of  caste  and  deep-seated  are 
their  love  and  allegiance  to  their  superiors ;  their 
kings,  chiefs,  and  headmen  cannot  err ;  theirs  the  power 
of  life  or  death  and  their  judgments  are  irrevo 
cable.  It  has  been  so  from  time  out  of  mind,  it  will 
continue  to  be  so  as  long  as  savages  are  savages.  Cus 
toms  cannot  be  uprooted  over  night  nor  can  the  habit 
of  centuries  be  annihilated  with  a  blow,  the  white  man's 
thought  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding. 

To  make  walking  less  heavy,  before  the  Government 
buildings  of  Cape  Lopez,  a  band  of  chained  prisoners  in 
charge  of  a  Senegalese  tirailleur  was  strewing  straw. 
They  gave  way  at  the  approach  of  the  white  men  and 
the  guard  stood  attention.  He  was  a  magnificent  speci 
men  of  a  black  man  and  he  shouldered  his  carbine  easily 
and  gracefully.  His  uniform  was  dark  blue,  his  fez 
was  red  with  a  long,  dangling  tassel  and  he  was  bare  of 
feet. 

The  government  buildings,  ramshackle  and  badly  in 
need  of  repairs,  were  of  the  low,  bungalow  type,  set  on 
piles  and  surrounded  by  verandas. 

Smithson  had  sent  word  to  the  Commandant  announc 
ing  their  call  at  that  hour,  otherwise  the  Commandant 
might  not  be  dressed  and  would  refuse  to  see  them. 

A  reed-grown  path  lead  through  a  dusty,  sandy,  neg 
lected  garden  to  the  Commandant's  veranda,  and  a 
houseboy  in  clean  whites  escorted  the  white  men  to  the 
Commandant's  bureau  —  a  large,  barren  room,  con- 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  113 

taining  a  littered-up  desk,  a  cabinet  file  and  some  heavy, 
wooden  chairs. 

The  Frenchman  appeared,  glowing  from  recent  scrub 
bing,  dressed  in  immaculate  white  and  smelling  strongly 
of  perfume.  Moore  had  correctly  described  him :  he 
did  look  like  a  puffed-up  poodle  dog,  lazy  and  overfed, 
and  he  was  the  sycophant  exaggerated.  He  was  over 
joyed  to  hear  la  langue  francaise  spoken  so  deliciously 
and  perfectly  by  a  foreigner;  deep  was  his  humiliation 
and  shame  that  he  could  not  speak  the  beautiful  Eng 
lish.  With  a  flourish  he  viseed  Huntingdon's  passport; 
he  made  out  with  great  pleasure  and  much  ostentation  a 
permis  de  sejour  for  six  months,  or  longer,  and  tendered 
it  to  Huntingdon  with  his  plus  grands  hommages;  he 
knew  Huntingdon  was  of  la  haute  noblesse,  un  gentil- 
homme  entitled  to  the  utmost  respect  and  deference ;  all 
of  which  grated  false  on  the  Englishmen  and  revealed  the 
Commandant' 's  peasant  origin. 

Then  the  Commandant  lead  the  way  to  his  private 
veranda  screened  with  Venetian  blinds  of  bamboo.  Di 
vans  and  easy  chairs  there  were,  mats  and  reading  mat 
ter,  but  the  place  reflected  the  master  and  it  was  neither 
reposeful  nor  comfortable.  It  didn't  ring  true.  Cham 
pagne,  dainty  biscuits  and  Habana  cigars  were  served. 
Under  the  influence  of  the  wine,  the  Commandant  la 
mented  the  monotonous,  barbarous  country ;  he  was 
trlste,  miserable  sans  son  jolie  femme;  malaria  and  the 
rains  had  left  him  thin,  meagre;  Africa  was  so  inhospit 
able  and  la  belle  France  si  distant!  Les  indigenes  were 
treacherous,  lazy  cochons;  they  refused  to  pay  impot; 
they  preferred  to  sleep  comme  les  betes  and  expected 
France  to  feed  and  keep  them.  They  did  not  appreciate 


114  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

him,  le  grand  Commandant  du  Cape  Lopez  who  loved 
them  like  children ;  for  punishment  he  wished  they  all 
had  but  one  head  that  he  might  strike  it  off  at  a  blow! 
He  commiserated  with  himself  until  tears  gathered  in 
his  frog-like  eyes ;  he  blew  his  nose  vigorously ;  he  poured 
absinthe  into  his  wine  glass,  added  much  sugar  and  little 
water,  and  drank  it  greedily.  Then  his  mood  changed ; 
he  grew  eloquent  upon  the  delights  of  absinthe;  it  was  a 
beautiful  woman,  a  goddess ;  the  grand  remedy  for  la 
tristesse;  it  brought  dreams  more  voluptuous  than  any 
material  delights!  Mon  Dwu,  la  belle  Absinthe!  He 
who  had  never  experienced  her  delights  was  accursed  of 
the  gods ! 

Several  native  chiefs  were  announced  by  the  boy,  but 
the  Commandant's  gloss  had  dimmed  before  absinthe, 
and  he  raged : 

"  Shut  up,  you  pig,  interrupt  me  again  and  I'll  have 
you  chicotted!  " 

He  wrang  Huntingdon's  hand  and  cried  when  he  bade 
him  adieu ;  le  grand  due  Huntingdon  must  come  again, 
and  often,  to  relieve  the  gloom  of  the  Commandant's 
triste  existence ;  but  to  Smithson  he  said  nothing,  he 
ignored  him  completely. 

"  The  old  hypocrite,"  raged  Smithson,  "  had  you  been 
a  mere  pleb  like  the  rest  of  us,  scant  treatment  and  short 
shrift  for  you.  The  French,  even  the  best  of  them, 
don't  like  us  and  never  will ;  and  these  sycophantic,  petty 
officials  lick  the  heels  of  any  man  above  them  by  the 
accident  of  birth.  That  reptile's  having  another  drink 
and  perhaps  off  to  sleep.  His  bureau  can  take  care  of 
itself.  Look  at  Cape  Lopez!  Here  you  find  the  A  B 
C  of  the  whole  French  Colony!  stagnation,  rottenness, 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  115 

barrenness,  degradation.  Did  you  ever  see  anything  so 
disreputable  in  all  your  life  as  those  government  build 
ings  ;  and  anybody  less  worthy  to  administer  the  law 
than  that  creature?  " 

"  They  could  be  worse,  but  not  much,"  Huntingdon 
answered  promptly.  He  believed  in  reputable  govern 
ment  quarters  and  he  detested  poseurs. 

The  postmaster  was  a  pale,  sickly  chap  with  his 
trousers  draped  mostly  about  his  thin  ankles.  He,  too, 
fairly  cringed  before  Huntingdon ;  he,  too,  indulged  in 
sugary  speech  from  which  Smithson  was  excluded;  and 
with  courtly  bows  and  many  flowery  compliments  he  took 
leave  of  Huntingdon. 

"  Puppets,  marionettes,  pulled  by  the  string  of  caste," 
cried  Smithson,  disgusted.  "  Give  me  a  man  and  I  don't 
care  a  ground-nut  what  his  ancestry  is.  I  say,  Hunt 
ingdon,  behold  the  Plains  of  Mandji,"  and  Smithson 
pointed  across  a  flat  plateau  spotted  here  and  there  with 
scrub  grass  and  disappearing  in  the  distance  into  dense 
vegetation.  "  There's  a  Hunter's  Paradise ;  the  play 
ground  of  rare  animals,  some  dating  beyond  the  Miocene 
Age.  Many  a  good  tussle  I've  had  there  with  the  bush- 
cow,  the  most  formidable  of  all  animals ;  as  for  leop 
ards,  they're  so  bold  fire  won't  keep  'em  away,  and  many 
a  good  shot  I've  had  at  them  on  a  bright  night  from  my 
own  veranda.  It's  nothing  at  all  unusual  for  a  cat  to 
steal  to  the  very  camp  fire  and  tear  a  child  away.  Oh, 
you'll  get  hunting  and  a-plenty !  I  can't  begin  to  name 
all  the  animals,  for  some  of  them  have  never  been  named ; 
as  for  birds,  the  air's  full  o'  them." 

"  I'm  awfully  keen  for  a  hunt,  old  man,"  enthused 
Huntingdon. 


116  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

"  Best  get  one  then  before  I  set  out  for  N'djole;  any 
way,  you  might  as  well  play  while  I'm  here,  you'll  have 
to  stick  close  enough  when  I'm  gone,  especially  'till  you 
get  the  hang  of  things." 

"  I  say,  Smithson,  old  chap,  I  don't  know  a  bally 
thing  about  trade,  don'  cher  know."  Huntingdon's 
frankness  was  that  of  a  growing  boy,  his  drawl  that  of  a 
West-End  dandy. 

"  Bluff  it ;  bluff  sends  the  world  around.  We  never 
get  any  new  lines  of  goods ;  merchandise  is  the  same  as 
it  has  been  for  half  a  century ;  only  cash  is  allowed 
over  the  counter,  no  barter  and  trade  at  all;  goods  are 
marked  in  plain  figures.  I'll  put  the  selling  prices  on 
the  last  invoices  that  came  in ;  you  can  study  them  and 
when  you've  once  learned  them,  you'll  be  all  right; 
however,  Itula's  the  wisest  native  I  ever  had  about  me 
in  all  —  "  then  suddenly  conscious  that  he  was  becoming 
personal,  he  cried :  "  Did  you  ever  in  all  your  life  see 
any  place  so  dreary,  so  God-forsaken,  so  end-of-the- 
earthy  as  Cape  Lopez?  This  thick,  dirty  stretch  of 
sand  is  our  only  promenade.  You're  getting  a  sample 
of  walking;  it's  not  conducive  to  exercise,  is  it?  " 

"  Decidedly  not !  still,  there's  the  sea ;  it  is  ever  chang 
ing  ;  then  there  are  the  plains  and  beyond  them  the  shad 
owy,  mysterious  bush  which  I'm  so  anxious  to  explore," 
Huntingdon  enthused.  Stopping  to  pick  up  a  cocoa 
nut,  and  pointing  to  the  cocoanut  palms,  he  exclaimed: 
"Aren't  they  majestic  with  their  long  fronds  of  dull 
green  bending  gracefully  from  the  tufted  trunks  of  old 
sepia,  and  isn't  it  wonderful  that  such  a  nutritious  nut 
should  come  from  such  barren  soil? "  Then,  as  the 
odor  of  turpentine  smote  his  nostrils,  he  looked  about 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  117 

and  discovering  a  mango  tree,  he  sought  its  motherly 
shade,  and  cried,  feeling  of  the  fruit  which  was  small 
and  hard  and  far  from  ripe,  "  Ah,  Smithson,  I  don't 
think  I'll  corrode  here;  it's  all  too  new,  too  interest 
ing,  so  entirely  different  to  what  I've  ever  before 
known !  " 

"  Enthuse  while  you  can,  old  man,"  advised  Smithson 
gently,  "  it'll  soon  wear  off ;  but  try  to  take  in  the  mean 
ing  of  this  desolate  beach;  notice  how  separate,  dis 
cordant  are  the  indifferent  habitations  of  the  white  men 
and  their  trade  depots.  I  tell  you,  Huntingdon,  if  it 
were  not  for  the  monthly  call  of  steamers  no  white  man 
could  stand  this  sameness.  It's  got  me  going  and  if  I 
don't  get  away  from  it  soon,  you'll  plant  me  here,"  and 
he  stopped  before  a  small  space  enclosed  with  a  crude 
fence  of  upright  bamboo  splits.  Depressions  showed 
here  and  there  in  the  inhospitable  sand  but  of  other  mark 
there  was  none  indicating  the  last  resting  place  of  the 
unfortunate  white  men  who  had  gone  the  way  of  Africa 
and  the  flesh.  It  was  a  sad,  desolate  spot  and  Hunting 
don  wished  he  had  not  seen  it.  He  made  no  comment  and 
passed  on,  but  Smithson  complained,  pathetically : 

"  Cape  Lopez  is  enough  of  a  boneyard  without  some 
fiend  planting  that  additional  reminder  there  to  taunt 
us  every  time  we  pass.  Huntingdon,  old  man,  could 
anything  be  more  depressing,  more  horror-begetting  than 
that  lonely  half-acre,  those  gaunt,  rattling  cocoa-nut 
palms  and  the  eternal  sob  of  the  restless  sea  casting 
itself  in  misery  on  the  shifting  sands  of  the  treacherous 
beach?  " 

Huntingdon's  reply  was  sympathetic,  acquiescent  si 
lence. 


118  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

"  I  must  get  away  from  here  one  time,  I  can't  stand 
it  much  longer,  my  friend." 

"  All  right,  old  chap,  when  you  will.  I'm  here  to 
relieve  you  and  I'm  ready  to  begin  right  now." 

"  Thanks,  but  there's  some  things  I  must  do  before  I 
go.  Anyhow,  at  N'djole  there's  nothing  but  bush.  The 
sea,  the  Atlantic,  is  some  direct  communication  with 
home,  and  that's  a  lot  of  comfort  —  at  —  times,  when 
its  sob  and  eternal  restlessness  don't  torture  worn-out 
nerves.  I'll  tire  of  the  bush  too.  It's  nothing  but  reek 
ing  vegetation ;  your  very  vitals  turn  green  gazing  at  it, 
and  the  torrential  rains  —  eight  months  the  rainy  season 
endures  —  eight  —  interminable  -  -  hell-enduring  - 
months." 

His  tones  died  off  in  a  sad  monotone,  expressing 
more  than  did  his  words.  Huntingdon  was  again  vividly 
impressed  with  the  white  man's  misery  in  the  black  man's 
country,  yet  such  misery  would  never  come  to  him !  oh, 
no!  He  was  there  to  gain  wealth  and  Marjorie.  He 
would  so  guard  himself  that  Africa's  onslaughts  would 
pass  him  by.  He  was  young,  strong,  healthy.  He 
would  put  up  a  stiff  fight.  HE  would  NOT  go  under ! 

Oh,  the  faith  of  youth  and  inexperience!  'Tis  sub 
lime! 

Into  the  Douane's  gate  Smithson  turned,  and  again 
barren  sand  led  to  the  very  door  of  the  bungalow. 

The  Douane  immediately  appeared  all  smiles,  dressed 
in  immaculate  white  and  hung  with  medals.  He  was  a 
Creole,  languorous,  indolent,  somnambulant,  about  thirty 
years  of  age  and  clothed  with  the  soft  fat  that  comes  of 
easy  living.  His  eyes  were  large,  velvety  and  a  rich, 
moist  brown  ;  his  thick,  dark  lashes  curled  like  a  woman's ; 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  119 

his  blue-black  hair  was  ripples  of  waves ;  his  mustache 
was  short  with  up-turned  ends;  his  complexion  was 
cafe  au  lait;  his  lips  were  full,  red,  and  sensual  and  his 
teeth  were  even,  white  and  rounded. 

A  gourmand  and  a  half-breed,  Moore  called  him;  an 
egoist  the  French  would  name  him,  but  to  Huntingdon 
he  was  exceedingly  interesting.  He  was  strongly  indi 
vidual  of  the  tropics,  part  and  parcel  of  them :  the  cold, 
gray  north  would  blast  and  kill  him. 

He  spoke  the  perfect  English  of  the  educated  for 
eigner  ;  he  showed  no  surprise  at  Huntingdon's  permis 
d'apporter  d'arms  dans  la  Colonie  Francaise  and  he 
made  out  a  permis  de  chasse,  presenting  it  to  Huntingdon 
with  his  plus  grands  hommages,  but  there  was  nothing 
servile  nor  sycophantic  about  him ;  he  was  a  gentleman,  a 
man  of  culture,  refinement,  travel ;  the  first  one  of  the 
kind  Huntingdon  met  on  the  west  coast.  And  white 
men  dubbed  him  half-breed!  But  breeding  is  breeding 
no  matter  what  dress  it  assumes  or  complexion  it  betrays. 

The  Douane  led  the  way  to  his  private  verandah 
where  a  revelation  of  ease  and  comfort  burst  upon  Hunt 
ingdon  and  delighted  him.  Finely  woven  bamboo  shades 
hid  the  verandah  from  public  gaze  and  permitted  a 
perfect,  subdued  view  of  the  littoral.  Low,  comfortable 
chaises  longues,  and  small  tables  were  of  Madeira  rattan ; 
the  floor  was  strewn  with  native  hand-woven  mats  of 
rich,  brilliant  hues ;  there  were  the  latest  novels  in 
Spanish,  French,  Italian  and  English.  Baudelaire's 
Les  Fleurs  du  Mai  lay  open  on  a  teakwood  tabouret, 
on  a  chaise  longue  piled  with  soft  cushions  covered 
with  cool,  fresh  linens,  were  Pierre  Loti's  Desenchantee, 
Paul  Adams'  Veu  d'Amerique,  and  Hichens'  Garden 


120  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

of  Allah.  Water  bottles  of  red  c\a.j  fashioned  like 
birds  hung  from  the  rafters  by  stout  lianes  coaxing 
coolness  from  the  circumambient  air.  On  the  rear  of 
the  veranda  a  table  was  laid  with  a  snowy-white,  well- 
ironed  cloth  and  set  with  a  single  breakfast  service  of 
delicate  white  china  with  a  narrow  gold  band. 

To  the  table  the  Douane  advanced,  and,  at  his  com 
mand;  "Petit  marmiton,"  a  smallboy  appeared.  He 
was  picturesque  in  a  brilliant  red  cloth  and  headdress 
and  a  white  coat  buttoned  up  tight  with  a  high  military 
collar.  He  listened  attentively  while  the  Douane  spoke 
in  the  Ouro-ungo  dialect,  then  softly  he  placed  two  extra 
chairs  at  the  table.  The  Douane  bade  his  guests  be 
seated ;  he  begged  their  permission  to  partake  of  his 
petit  dejeuner;  he  asked  them  what  refreshment  they 
would  have.  At  that  instant  the  houseboy  appeared 
in  a  well-fitting  fresh  white  uniform,  bearing  on  a  tray  a 
glass  of  fresh  milk  from  the  cocoanut;  cafe-au-lait, 
dry  toast  and  a  papaye.  The  visitors  declared  in  favor 
of  the  cocoanut  milk.  The  marmiton,  at  the  Douane' s 
command,  brought  forth  a  number  of  the  nuts,  from 
which  the  Douane  selected  the  best  and  ordered  the  milk 
extracted  therefrom.  The  Douane  spoke  of  the  benefi 
cial  qualities  of  the  milk  as  a  morning  beverage:  it 
regulates  the  system,  helps  ward  off  fever,  etc. ;  then 
in  French  he  commanded  the  Iwuseboy  to  take  a  bag  of 
the  nuts  to  Holt's ! 

Smithson  was  astounded  at  such  generosity,  but  he 
was  too  well  bred  to  show  it;  however,  when  the  gour 
mand,  who  was  never  known  willing  to  relinquish  any 
thing,  offered  to  keep  Holt's  supplied  with  fresh  vege 
tables  —  that  rare  boon  in  that  country  of  sand  and 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  121 

blasting  drought  followed  by  a  deluge  of  eight  months' 
rain  —  Smithson  imagined  it  a  chimera  of  his  fever- 
laden  brain. 

"  God  a'  Mighty,"  he  exclaimed  when  he  and  Hunting 
don  were  homeward  bound,  "  such  unheard-of  generosity 
will  simply  upset  the  whole  colony.  It's  the  first  time 
in  the  gourmand's  history  that  he's  given  away  anything 
to  eat  —  as  for  vegetables,  Lord,  they're  worth  their 
weight  in  gold !  You've  no  idea  what  garden-making 
is  out  here  and  how  rare  it  is  for  European  seeds  to 
germinate.  This  generosity's  the  most  surprising  thing 
that's  ever  happened  on  this  coast ;  it'll  simply  upset 
the  colony ! " 

Sadler  was  delighted.  He  knew  Huntingdon  was  a 
one-time  winner,  and  with  the  joy  of  a  mischievous  boy, 
he  spread  the  wondrous  news  of  the  Great  White  King's 
conquest  of  the  half-breed  gourmand.  Moore  was  con 
sumed  with  jealousy,  so  were  the  other  traders,  and  the 
natives  marveled  what  manner  of  a  white  man  he  was 
who  could  conquer  the  all-powerful  and  much-feared 
Douane! 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THAT  night  Moore  greeted  his  guests  with  cocktails 
already  mixed  and  a  shout  to  his  two  boys :  "  Pass 
chop!  " 

Although  his  bungalow  was  flush  with  the  sand,  and 
its  veranda  small,  yet  throughout  the  little  establish 
ment  order  and  cleanliness  prevailed. 

A  lamp  with  a  colored  shade  hung  low  over  the  table, 
and  threw  a  roseate  glow  over  everything.  The  table 
was  well-laid  and  spotless  ;  the  linen  well  laundered ;  the 
silver,  china  and  glass,  though  of  inferior  quality,  shone 
from  vigorous  polishing,  and  at  each  plate  was  this 
menu,  elaborately  written  with  much  flourishing  of  ink : 

Lentil  soup. 

Eggs  fried  in  butter  with  sauce  tomato. 
Fresh  fish  avec  sauce  de  vin  blanc.          Pati  de  f  ois  gras  a  la  Chinoise. 

Lettuce  with  mayonnaise. 
Braised  celery.  Grilled  poulet  avec  dressing  francaise. 

Chocolate  custard  with  whites  of  eggs  on  top. 

Red  and  white  wine,  brandy,  creme  de  menthe.        Caf6  noir.     Tea. 

Chocolate  candy. 

Despite  the  execrable  French  of  the  menu,  every  dish 
was  delicious,  the  service  first-class,  but  to  Huntingdon 
blatant  and  jarring  was  Moore's  boasting:  butter,  eggs, 
milk,  potatoes  and  fresh  vegetables  though  ordinary  in 
civilization  were  luxuries  there;  butter  and  milk  were 
obtainable  only  in  tins  and  were  very  expensive ;  pota- 

122 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

toes  cost  two  shillings  the  kilo  from  German  steamers, 
as  for  vegetables,  "  after  I  heard  you  made  such  a 
grand-slam  to-day  with  the  gourmand,  I  sent  a  book 
telling  him  you  were  coming  to  chop  to-night  and  asking 
what  fresh  stuff  he  could  contribute.  He  sent  the  let 
tuce  and  six  fresh  eggs,  voua  le  cutard!  " 

The  other  three  men  gazed  in  amazement  at  Moore, 
then  little  Sadler  cried: 

"  Moore,  you've  got  the  g —  d' — est  nerve  of  any 
white  man  I  ever  heard  of !  Striking  the  gourmand  for 
chop  when  you  know  bally  well  he  hates  you !  " 

"  Oh,  he  accuses  everybody  of  making  out  false  ex 
port  vouchers,"  Moore  defended.  "  I  say,  Huntingdon, 
this  is  chop  as  is  chop,  n'est  ce  pas?  " 

"  Very  fine,  indeed,  Mr.  Moore.  We  must  try  to  get 
a  decent  cook,  gentlemen,"  and  Huntingdon  addressed 
Sadler  and  Smithson. 

"  Yes,  it's  all  in  the  servants,"  Sadler  agreed. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,  I  think  the  man  at  the  head's  what 
counts,"  bridled  Moore.  "  If  a  white  man's  slack,  his 
surroundings  are  slack.  I  won't  put  up  with  it." 

"  Ah,  gwan,"  sneered  Sadler,  "  come  up  to  Holt's  to 
morrow  night  and  we'll  serve  you  grub  that'll  put  yours 
in  the  fo'cas'le  class." 

"  Best  find  a  chef  first,"  admonished  Smithson. 

"  Leave  that  to  me,"  and  Sadler  thought  of  the  ab 
ducted  Loango.  "  Might  as  well  bring  up  those 
cheroots,  Moore ;  you'll  have  to  pay  'em." 

"  You  talk  like  a  drunken  man,"  gibed  Moore. 
"Find  a  chef!  Where'll  you  get  him?  Besides  you 
haven't  linen  and  dishes  enough  to  set  before  even  a 
half-breed." 


"  You  can't  eat  dishes  and  tablecloths  —  but  I'll 
guarantee  you  mil  devour  —  "  but  Sadler  got  no  further, 
for  a  big  scorpion  fell  from  the  rafters  to  his  head  and 
bounced  to  his  plate.  He  jumped  up  with  a  yell  and 
commanding  a  boy  to  take  the  thing  away  and  kill  it, 
he  rammed  his  wide-awake  low  on  his  head  and  advised 
the  others  to  put  theirs  on  too.  The  conversation  thus 
drifted  to  deaths  from  poisonous  insects,  from  snakes 
and  wild  animals,  leopards  in  particular.  Huntingdon 
thought  the  long-bowing  on  the  Nigeria  was  pretty  far 
fetched,  but  it  was  nothing  in  comparison  to  that  now 
indulged  in  for  his  benefit.  Sadler  passed  on  to  the 
tenderfoot  the  delightful  (?)  stories  heaped  upon  him 
on  his  arrival  on  the  coast,  augmented  by  his  personal 
experiences  and  the  promptings  of  Moore  and  Smithson. 

Coffee,  tea,  cigars  and  creme  de  mentlie  were  served 
on  the  veranda. 

The  night  was  hot  and  still  save  for  the  insect  life 
that  sings  and  chirps  through  the  African  darkness  and 
the  white  men  were  enjoying  a  smoke  in  silence,  when, 
suddenly,  a  harsh,  discordant  bell  struck  near  at  hand, 
causing  Smithson  to  start  violently  and  to  curse  Moore. 

"  I  never  hear  the  bally  thing,"  Moore  defended. 
"  But  the  watch  don't  know  that.  He  sounds  the  bell 
every  half-hour;  it  keeps  him  awake  and  the  logs  don't 
get  away  with  the  tide.  I  say,  Huntingdon,  when  you 
take  charge,  begin  by  being  master  and  remaining  so ; 
give  your  orders  and  make  them  be  carried  out;  a 
negro  don't  improve  by  petting;  once  you  treat  him 
as  a  human  being,  he  has  nothing  but  rotten  contempt 
for  you,  and — " 

"  Who  wants  a  sermon !  "  Sadler  cut  in.     "  Come  on, 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  125 

Moore,  order  a  cashing-go  and  a  lantern  and  let's  give 
the  tenderfoot  a  lesson  in  blackbirding ." 

A  short  distance  across  the  plain  the  bamboo  shacks 
of  the  natives,  with  thatched  roofs,  stood  on  either  side 
of  a  narrow,  hard-beaten  road,  and  the  little  town  was 
wrapped  in  slumber,  but  in  another  second,  it  was  awake 
and  in  panic.  Sadler  kicked  in  doors,  flared  a  lantern 
in  sleeping  faces,  and  forced  men,  women  and  children 
into  the  open. 

The  majority  of  them  were  undraped ;  others  had  their 
loin  cloths  torn  off  by  Moore  and  Sadler.  The  savages 
were  forced  to  dance  to  the  tempo  of  cashing-gos 
beaten  livety  upon  their  nude  bodies.  They  took  any 
pose  and  executed  any  movement  to  escape  the  blows  of 
their  white  tormentors. 

Huntingdon  was  disgusted.  A  natural,  willing  native 
dance,  no  matter  of  what  abandon,  would  have  interested 
him,  but  not  that  banal  farce. 

He  turned  away,  when  Moore  flung  a  young  girl  to 
wards  him,  crying: 

"  G'wan,  Huntingdon,  take  her  for  a  wife.  She's  a 
beaut." 

The  girl  cowered,  affrighted,  but,  recognizing  the 
Great  White  King,  she  timidly  put  her  arms  about  him 
and  silently  begged  his  protection.  Gently,  the  white 
man  lead  her  to  her  hut,  put  her  in  and  closed  the  door. 

Chivalry  towards  a  savage  woman  sent  the  other  white 
men  into  hysterical  laughter  and  brought  forth  such 
loathsome  suggestions,  that  abruptly  Huntingdon  sum 
moned  Mbega  and  a  lantern  and  went  home.  So  stern 
was  he  that  none  of  the  others  had  the  courage  to  stay 
him  or  utter  a  word. 


126  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

In  the  morning  Chief  Ragundo  of  the  Ouroungoes 
called  with  a  number  of  his  most  eligible  women,  hoping 
that  the  Great  White  King  would  purchase  one  for  a 
wife,  but  Smithson,  then  sober,  spared  Huntingdon  by 
sending  the  old  chief  away  with  gifts  of  rum  and  tobacco 
for  himself  and  his  women. 

Huntingdon  had  been  silent  all  morning  and  tried  to 
seek  seclusion  in  his  room.  To  ease  the  tension,  Sadler 
suggested  a  hunt  for  the  morrow  —  Sunday, —  and 
Ogula,  the  shootman,  was  summoned. 

Guns  were  gotten  out,  overhauled  and  loaded ;  belts 
were  stuffed  with  ammunition  and  a  start  at  four  in  the 
morning  was  agreed  upon. 

As  it  was  then  Saturday  afternoon,  Smithson  and 
Sadler,  accompanied  by  Huntingdon,  went  to  the  fac 
tory  to  help  Itula  pay  off  the  crewboys. 

Huntingdon  got  his  first  lesson  in  native  trading. 
Although  the  natives  were  eager  to  exchange  their  wages 
for  the  white  man's  goods,  they  haggled  so  long  and 
changed  their  minds  so  often  that  the  white  men  lost 
their  tempers  and  consigned  them  to  perdition  and  eter 
nal  torture  by  way  of  shoving  them  none  too  gently  out 
of  the  factory.  Instead  of  driving  them  away,  it  caused 
them  to  return ;  their  decisions  were  prompt  and  soon 
the  tiresome  week-end  business  was  over  with. 

Keenly  interested,  Huntingdon  stood  to  one  side,  tow 
ering  head  and  shoulders  over  the  other  white  men. 
Sharp,  too,  was  the  contrast  between  them  and  him. 
They  wore  old  singlets  and  trousers  and  indifferent  sus 
penders  ;  their  great  felt  hats  were  pushed  far  back  on 
their  heads,  they  were  soaked  with  perspiration  and 
plainly  disturbed  by  the  heat,  the  exertion  of  trading 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  127 

and  the  actions  of  the  natives.  If  the  heat  depressed 
Huntingdon,  he  did  not  show  it.  As  usual  he  was  in 
fresh  whites  and  well-groomed,  his  pose  was  indolent, 
graceful  and  easy,  but  his  eyes  and  mind  were  active. 
Those  were  the  people  who  must  aid  him  wrestle  wealth 
from  their  land ;  he  must  know  them,  if  he  were  to  suc 
ceed  —  and  succeed  he  would  for  he  had  set  his  mind 
upon  it  and  for  a  man  of  his  determination  to  aver  is  to 
do.  Something  of  the  meaning  of  the  tremendous  task 
he  had  taken  upon  himself  was  slowly  dawning  upon 
him,  and,  like  the  men  of  his  race  when  combat  is  immi 
nent,  he  was  girding  his  loins  for  the  fight.  He  had  to 
go  it  alone  and  he  determined  to  conserve  all  his  energies 
for  the  effort. 

He  had  not  the  slightest  idea  what  tremendous  effect 
his  imperious  looks  and  seemingly  indifference  were 
having  on  the  natives.  His  thoughts  were  not  once  on 
himself,  but  on  the  work  ahead  of  him,  and  when  men 
and  women  murmured  towards  him : 

"  Tata  otangani  Huntingdon,"  *  he  not  only  did  not 
know  the  meaning  of  the  words  but  he  never  once  sus 
pected  that  it  was  their  voluntary  acknowledgment  of 
his  superiority  and  their  acceptance  of  him  as  their 
Great  White  King.  But  Sadler  and  Smithson  knew 
the  meaning  of  those  words  and  the  actions  of  the  na 
tives,  and  when,  at  sundown,  French,  Belgian,  Swiss,  and 
German  traders  called  to  welcome  Huntingdon  to  the 
coast,  little  Sadler  took  great  pains  to  tell  them  all  about 
the  sensation  Huntingdon  made  and  the  unsolicited 
homage  the  natives  rendered  him. 

Moore  swaggered  in  at  dinner  time.     He  was  posi- 

i  Huntingdon,  Great  White  King. 


128  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

tive  Sadler  had  found  no  cook  and  he  was  fully  prepared 
to  demand  the  immediate  payment  of  the  cigars.  Great 
then  was  his  astonishment  and  chagrin  when  promptly 
at  7:30  Makaya  sent  in  an  excellent  dinner  and  proved 
himself  to  be  the  best  chef  in  the  whole  of  the  Congo 
Fran9ais.  Moore  paid  his  loss  with  good  grace,  and, 
although  he  could  not  coax  from  the  little  skipper  how 
the  chef  was  secured,  when  he  left,  Sadler  told  the  whole 
story  in  detail  to  the  others  and  sent  them  to  bed  laugh 
ing  and  happy. 

At  four  o'clock  Sunday  morning,  Huntingdon  and 
Ogula  were  on  hand  all  read}7  for  the  hunt,  but  it  was 
noon  before  Sadler  and  Smithson  arose.  Sadler  ex 
plained  he  wouldn't  hunt  on  Sunday  —  not  because  he 
held  sacred  the  day  — •  but  that  he  "  wanted  to  get  one 
in  on  old  man  Holt  by  hunting  on  a  work-day."  Smith- 
son  confessed  that  he  was  too  nervous  to  hold  a  gun,  but 
both  white  men  solemnly  promised  to  set  out  early  the 
next  morning  without  Moore,  who  was  never  known  to 
keep  appointments  or  promises. 

Again  Ogula  was  admonished  to  be  ready  in  the  morn 
ing  "  before  sun  he  ketch  for  top  and  while  moon  he 
live." 

The  stolid  face  of  the  big  savage  betrayed  nothing  of 
his  thoughts,  but,  when  Huntingdon  asserted  that  he 
must  hunt  if  only  for  the  exercise,  Ogula  drew  himself 
up,  and,  looking  full  into  the  face  of  Huntingdon,  said 
earnestly : 

"  I  savvy,  King  Huntingdon.      Ogula  live  for  come." 

Sadler  was  highly  pleased  at.Ogula's  evident  liking 
for  the  tenderfoot  and  he  remarked  to  Smithson  that  it 
was  well  Huntingdon  was  in  the  service  of  John  Holt 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  129 

else  he  would  have  all  the  natives  begging  him  for  work 
and  trading  with  him  to  the  detriment  and  loss  of  the 
other  trading  houses. 

The  Sunday  afternoon  dress  parade  was  the  largest 
and  most  gorgeous  Cape  Lopez  had  ever  seen,  all  on 
account  of  the  Great  White  King,  whose  fame  was 
spreading  throughout  the  land. 

The  wives  of  the  white  men  were  conspicuous  in 
mother  hubbards,  but  no  petticoats  stood  out  as  at  Sierra 
Leone  and  no  wads  of  fat  were  distorted  into  bunches 
as  was  the  case  with  the  corsetted  native  women  who 
had  boarded  the  Nigeria  off  Calabar  in  Southern  Nige 
ria.  The  majority  of  the  Cape  Lopez  women  wore  new, 
bright  loin  cloths,  turbans  made  from  gaudy  silk  ker 
chiefs,  and  tightly  rolled  black,  European  umbrellas  bal 
anced  crosswise  on  their  heads.  Men  were  clad  in  odds 
and  ends  of  cast-off  European  attire;  new  and  old 
trade  cloths;  flannelet  nightshirts  and  singlets.  One 
dandy  was  conspicuous  in  a  brilliant  red  trade  cloth,  a 
khaki  coat  with  huge  brass  buttons,  a  white  plush  high 
hat  and  a  walking  stick  thick  as  a  bludgeon.  Every 
head  turned  to  look  after  him,  and  at  either  side  of  him 
trotted  a  boy  and  girl  aged  about  four,  nude  as  the 
day  they  were  born.  Smithson  explained  that  no  mat 
ter  how  keenly  the  winds  blew,  children  were  seldom 
bundled  up,  while  their  elders  not  only  put  on  all  the 
clothing  they  possessed,  but  wrapped  their  heads  and 
throats  with  woolen  scarfs  and  at  night  all  negroes  slept 
with  their  heads  towards  the  fire  and  their  feet  out  in 
the  cold. 

The  European  hat  of  a  by-gone  period  led  to  a  dis 
cussion  of  the  trading  days  in  the  Sixteenth  Century 


130  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

when  wily  Dutch  merchantmen  exchanged  old  hats  and 
perukes  for  rubber,  ivory,  beeswax  and  the  strands  of 
the  elephant's  tail.  From  the  latter  necklaces  and  brace 
lets  are  made  and  so  universally  are  they  worn  by  natives 
of  all  ages  and  sexes  that  Smithson  opined  they  were 
the  oldest  jewelry  extant.  "  It's  strange,"  Smithson 
concluded,  "  why  such  a  huge  creature  as  the  elephant 
has  such  a  small  tail  and  why  a  tiny  monkey  has  such 
a  large  one." 

"  I  know  why,"  spoke  up  Sadler  after  the  manner  of 
a  small  boy  eager  to  reply  to  a  question  of  the  teacher, 
"  monkeys  need  long  tails  to  swing  from  tree  to  tree 
when  promenading,  but  if  an  elephant  had  as  long  a  tail 
as  his  big  body  entitles  him  to,  when  the  drivers  are  on 
a  rampage,  every  creature  from  a  cockroach  to  a  leopard 
would  leap  on  the  fleeing  elephant's  tail  and  the  poor 
beast  would  be  so  overloaded  that  he'd  drop  down  and 
then  the  drivers  would  chop  him  tail  and  all;  so  the 
first  elephant  mother,  wise  in  her  generation,  broke  off 
the  tail  of  her  first  daughter  and  exacted  from  the  child 
an  oath  to  continue  the  practice  with  her  daughter  and 
thus  send  the  custom  down  through  succeeding  years ;  so 
when  the  drivers  come  and  every  living  thing  flees  for 
its  life  before  them,  the  elephant  has  as  good  a  chance  of 
escape  as  has  a  snake  or  a  leopard  or  an  antelope." 

"  And  where  might  you  have  gained  such  wisdom,  my 
dear  Sadler?"  Huntingdon  asked,  amusement  and  af 
fection  in  his  tones. 

"  I  not  only  took  it  in  with  my  mother's  milk  but  I 
learned  it  from  countless  bob-hang-overs  at  London 
music  and  concert  halls  and  from  six-penny  popular 
editions  for  which  all  my  boyish  earnings  were  spent  and 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  131 

for  which  extravagance  I  got  many  lamb -bastings  from 
my  darling  mother;  which  said  beatings  were  so  fre 
quent  that  at  night  I  never  could  sleep  until  two  things 
happened,"  and  Sadler  stopped  to  light  a  cigarette. 

"What  things?"  demanded  Smithson,  like  Hunting 
don  highly  interested  and  admiration  and  affection  ap 
parent  in  his  voice. 

"  I  got  the  beating  and  said  my  prayers." 

"  No  doubt  you  deserved  the  beatings,"  laughed  Hunt 
ingdon. 

"  I  was  the  biggest  devil  the  Lord  ever  let  live  with 
out  punishing  him  —  unless  you  call  my  being  here  in 
Hell's  Playground  punishment,  and  I  came  here  of  my 
own  accord  because  not  a  living  soul  is  left  me  at  home," 
then,  conscious  that  he  was  growing  sentimental,  he 
cried  comically :  "  O  Great  White  King,  have  you  no 
ticed  what  perpetual  hunting  the  niggers  find  in  their 
own  wooly  heads  and  how  they  are  always  slaughtering 
game,  preferably  in  the  sight  of  the  white  man  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I've  noticed  it  and  I'd  clip  every  native's  head 
close,  if  I  could  — 

"  Don't  do  it !  "  broke  in  Smithson ;  "  leave  something 
to  the  imagination." 

The  Dress  Parade  continued  until  sundown.  All  Cape 
Lopez  knew  that  Huntingdon  had  not  yet  selected  a  wife 
and  every  woman  considered  herself  a  candidate  for  the 
position  and  was  out  in  all  her  finery  hoping  to  arrest 
his  eye.  Back  and  forth  they  paraded  slowly,  stopping 
now  and  then  to  glance  back,  presumably  to  see  who  was 
following  or  what  was  happening  behind,  but  in  reality 
as  an  excuse  to  linger  in  front  of  Holt's  bungalow. 
Because  of  the  heat  and  the  sun's  glare  the  white  men 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

were  not  visible,  but  the  keen  eyes  of  the  savages  dis 
cerned  their  white-clad  forms  behind  the  bamboo  shades. 

However,  there  was  one  woman  in  Cape  Lopez  who  did 
not  participate  in  the  exhibition  and  Sadler  and  Smithson 
remarked  her  absence. 

She  was  Ndio,  the  Gabonaise,  mistress  to  the  Com 
mandant. 

"  She's  too  imperious  to  indulge  in  any  such  vulgar 
ity,"  said  Smithson. 

"  A  good-looking  woman  don't  have  to  chase  a 
man  —  he  does  the  chasing,"  said  little  Sadler.  "  I  say, 
Huntingdon,  this  Gabonaise's  a  hummer.  Take  her 
from  the  Commandant  —  all's  fair  in  wench-  and  trade- 
palaver  out  here,  and  she  won't  be  nearly  so  hard  to 
seduce  as  was  the  Loango.  I  confess,  however,  Moore, 
Smithson  and  yours  truly  had  a  go  at  the  seduction 
game,  but  she  wouldn't  even  turn  her  nose  up  at  us ; 
we're  not  in  her  class.  She  goes  in  only  for  the  best, 
and  as  you're  a  topnotcher  and  a  really  truly  Great 
White  King,  send  for  her  and  she'll  come  one  time." 

"  Think  she  would,  old  chap?  "  remarked  Huntingdon, 
highly  amused.  "  I'll  look  her  up  at  the  first  oppor 
tunity  and  make  a  proposition  of  marriage  to  her — " 
all  of  which  he  had  no  intention  of  doing.  Not  that 
women  did  not  appeal  to  him,  but  he  meant  to  be  true 
to  Marjorie;  besides,  he  needed  all  his  vitality  for  the 
battle  ahead  of  him. 

Sundown  brought  Moore,  polished  and  clean  and  red 
olent  of  trade  scent,  He  didn't  even  take  the  trouble, 
so  he  explained  to  Huntingdon,  to  arise  for  the  hunt; 
he  knew  Smithson  and  Sadler  had  no  notion  of  going; 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  133 

however,  lie  would  take  Huntingdon  alone  to  the  bush 
on  the  morrow ;  he  was  never  known  to  "  break  a  ren 
dezvous  or  fail  a  friend." 

"  Rats!"  was  Sadler's  terse  ejaculation. 


CHAPTER  IX 

HUNTINGDON  was  sound  asleep  when  a  light  touch  on 
his  arm  startled  him  and  caused  him  to  reach  for  his 
revolver,  but  a  hand  stayed  him  and  Ogula  whispered : 

"  Master,  moon  he  die.  Time  tek  walk  fer  bush. 
Me,  Mbega,  Ora,  ready,  one  time." 

By  the  aid  of  a  lantern,  Huntingdon  silently,  and 
quickly  dressed.  He  felt  like  a  convict  without  his 
morning  tub,  but  he  was  trying  his  best  to  comply  with 
Africa's  ways. 

Shouldering  his  magazine  rifle,  he  set  forth. 

On  the  veranda  he  paused,  fascinated  by  the  scene 
before  him. 

Black  night  still  reigned,  but  on  the  beach  there  leapt 
forth  a  blazing  fire,  around  which  were  gathered  shades, 
large,  repellent  and  unnatural,  like  demons  from 
the  underworld  plotting  man's  destruction.  It  was  the 
watch's  fire  about  which  were  gathered  Ndatuma,  the 
watch,  Ogula,  Mbega  and  Ora. 

Huntingdon  advanced  boldly.  Though  his  feet  made 
no  sound  on  the  heavy  sand,  the  savages  were  aware  of 
his  approach.  They  received  him  in  silence.  Mbega 
took  a  kettle  from  the  fire  and  poured  hot  coffee  into  a 
tin.  Unhesitatingly,  as  though  he  had  never  heard  of 
secret  poison,  the  white  man  drank  the  coffee. 

The  eyes  of  the  savages  were  full  upon  him.  Never 
did  he  look  so  noble,  so  fearless ;  never  did  the  blood  of 

134? 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  135 

his  proud  ancestors  so  gloriously  show  itself !  Tall  and 
magnificent  as  was  the  savage,  Ogula,  the  white  man 
held  his  own.  Each  was  an  excellent  specimen  of  his 
race:  the  crude,  unlettered  bushman,  and  the  hyper- 
civilized  white  man ;  one  a  slave  to  fetishism,  degrading 
superstitions ;  the  other  a  product  of  civilization,  an  ob 
server  of  God's  laws ;  one  of  the  equator  with  its  torrid 
heat  and  blasting  sun ;  the  other  of  the  north  with  its 
cold,  gray  winters  and  delightful  summers ;  one,  un 
clothed  and  revelling  in  that  nudity ;  the  other  clothed 
from  head  to  heel  and  comfortable  in  that  clothing ; 
one,  as  black  as  the  shades  of  night  and  as  mysterious ; 
the  other,  white,  like  the  day,  to  be  read  by  him  who 
would. 

Huntingdon  became  conscious  of  the  uncanny  still 
ness  of  all  things  and  the  insistent  stare  of  the  savages. 

The  Bay  of  Mandji,  as  the  natives  call  Lopez  Bay, 
was  a  vacant,  silent  void,  save,  now  and  then,  when  its 
waters  stole  on  the  beach  with  a  sigh,  as  though  a  rest 
less  soul  had  found  repose,  while  the  fire's  red  glow 
emphasized  the  size  and  brutality  of  the  savages  and 
glinted  along  their  keen  hunting  knives  peeping  from 
out  their  cloths. 

Mechanically,  Huntingdon's  fingers  felt  for  the  trig 
ger  of  his  gun.  According  to  habit,  when  he  set  out, 
he  was  well  provided  with  gold.  Had  Ogula  seen  it  and 
had  his  murder  been  planned? 

Suddenly  funereal  wings  scraped  over  Huntingdon's 
helmet ;  and,  at  the  same  moment,  an  unearthly  scream 
came  from  the  bush  beyond ! 

Fear,  absolute  fear,  held  this  son  of  the  Bedfords 
and  the  Granvilles.  Fear  of  the  unknown :  Africa's 


136  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

sleepless  mystery  and  her  peoples  ;  that  thing  encircling 
his  head,  and  the  weird  cry  from  the  shadowy  bush ! 

Huntingdon  longed  to  slay  the  creature  over  his  head, 
but  he  had  not  the  strength  to  move  a  muscle !  Like 
one  petrified  he  stood,  his  eyes  in  the  eyes  of  the  savages. 

The  fire  seemed  to  glow  brighter;  to  hunt  out  his 
cowardice,  to  expose  it  to  those  stolid,  silent,  observant 
savages.  He  suffered  eons  of  misery.  Then  the  thing 
above  his  head  flew  into  the  fire. 

It  was  a  bat,  only  a  bat ! 

Again  came  the  unearthly  screech  from  the  bush,  and 
"  Plantaineater !  "  Ogula,  the  savage,  grunted. 

Huntingdon  was  himself  again.  Lightly  he  held 
forth  the  tin  for  more  coffee. 

Then  Ogula  delivered  a  speech,  slowly,  deliberately 
and  impressively,  evidently  the  verdict  of  a  conference. 

"  Master  Huntingdon,  him  be  proper  white  man. 
Me,  Ogula,  and  Mbega  and  Ora  and  Ndatuma  be  him 
proper  friends." 

"  Aye,"  grunted  the  others. 

Thus  Huntingdon  passed  muster  with  the  savages. 
Not  only  were  his  height,  his  kingly  bearing,  his  ap 
parent  fearlessness,  his  blond  beauty  extremely  impres 
sive  in  the  fire's  light,  but  his  hunting  togs  confessed  a 
knowledge  of  hunting,  of  the  bush  and  its  ways.  His 
suit  and  helmet  were  of  dark  green  khaki,  which  har 
monizes  best  with  sandy  wastes  and  dank  jungle. 
Had  he  come  forth  in  staring  white  or  in  yellow  khaki, 
like  most  tenderfeet,  a  shining  target  for  skulking  game, 
the  savages  would  have  grunted  their  contempt  and  fol 
lowed  him  begrudgingly. 

Ogula    said    something    in    the    native    dialect,    and, 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  137 

througli  throbbing  somnambulance,  along  the  heavy, 
sandy  beach,  Ora  led  the  way,  carrying  a  lighted  lantern. 

All  was  silent  and  dark  within  the  few  habitations  of 
the  white  men.  No  guard  stood  before  the  Comman 
dant's  and  the  Douane's. 

How  easy  it  would  be  for  the  savages  to  steal  upon 
and  rid  themselves  of  their  oppressors !  Huntingdon 
wondered  what  stayed  the  hand  of  the  black  man. 
Their  present  condition  under  the  French  government 
was  not  a  comfortable  one  and  it  was  growing  daily 
more  intolerable. 

But  Huntingdon's  thoughts  did  not  dwell  long  upon 
the  black  man's  sorrows.  With  every  step  he  took  the 
wine  of  life  flowed  more  blithely  through  his  healthy 
veins  and  the  spirit  of  adventure  was  quick  with  him. 

He  was  off  on  his  first  African  hunt ;  to  penetrate  for 
the  first  time  the  primeval  world  of  which  he  was  totally 
ignorant ;  to  pit  his  training  against  the  natural  cun 
ning  of  its  denizens. 

He  wondered  what  game  he  would  bag.  He  hoped 
he  would  get  an  elephant  and  a  buffalo ;  he  longed  to 
take  back  to  Holt's  big  game  worth  while.  Recalling 
that  he  was  in  the  gorilla  country  of  Paul  du  Chaillu, 
he  wondered  what  he  would  do  were  he  to  meet  a  gorilla 
face  to  face !  Great  indeed  is  the  creature's  strength, 
and  the  rencounter  would  not  be  a  pleasant  one  unless 
Huntingdon  sighted  him  at  a  distance  great  enough  to 
blaze  away  with  his  .303  loaded  with  soft-nosed  bullets. 
And  the  monkeys?  Would  they  throw  cocoanuts  at 
him,  and  why  couldn't  he  trap  a  number  of  them,  teach 
them  to  play  polo  and  take  them  home  with  him  for  the 
amusement  of  ennuyed  men  and  women? 


138  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Marjorie  should  have  all  sorts  of  interesting  crea 
tures.  He  would  start  them  to  England  in  the  early 
spring,  so  that  they  would  have  the  summer  months  in 
which  to  become  acclimated.  He  would  have  to  send 
something  else  than  birds  and  animals  to  his  mother;  she 
did  not  like  animals.  She  tolerated  the  hounds  only 
because  they  were  part  of  their  country  life.  If  he  only 
had  the  hounds  with  him  now !  Would  they  not  point 
the  game?  But,  alas,  the  equatorial  sun  would  compel 
their  being  tied  up  in  the  shade  all  day  long,  and  to  an 
animal  a  leash  is  torture.  No,  they  were  better  at 
home ;  so  were  his  polo  pony  and  Bryce,  his  valet.  But 
his  mother  and  Marjorie  could  not  understand  why  left 
behind  were  the  animals  and  the  valet  and  other  things 
to  which  he  had  all  his  life  been  accustomed.  Was 
Africa  not  like  India,  with  all  the  niceties  and  sociability 
of  diplomatic  circles?  Was  he  not  off  for  a  ripping 
good  time  among  civilized  men  and  civilized  surround 
ings?  Oh,  yes,  he  was  off  for  a  ripping  time,  'midst 
enchanting  surroundings,  but  the  voyage  out  was  such 
a  long  one  he  did  not  care  to  have  the  hounds  and  the 
pony  he  loved  submitted  to  close  confinement  on  ship 
board,  and  as  for  Bryce,  he  was  old  and  his  wife  was 
blind  and  his  place  was  at  home  with  her.  Anyhow, 
there  were  many  trained  native  servants  and  Hunting 
don  would  have  as  many  of  them  as  were  necessary  for 
his  comfort.  So  the  truth  was  kept  from  the  two 
human  beings  Huntingdon  loved  best  and  they  had  not 
the  slightest  idea  of  the  real  environment  in  which 
he  was  to  dwell  for  the  next  three  years.  His  letters 
written  on  board  the  Nigeria  spoke  only  of  the  interest 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  189 

of  the  long  voyage  —  as  Huntingdon  viewed  it  from 
Liverpool  to  Sierra  Leone  —  and  after  that  he  invented 
pleasantries. 

These  thoughts,  too,  were  brushed  from  his  mind,  for, 
like  the  men  of  his  race,  body  and  soul  he  surrendered 
himself  to  the  thing  at  hand.  So  to  the  bush  he  marched 
blithely,  whistling  merrily,  to  the  delight  and  wonder  of 
the  savages,  for  they  do  not  whistle. 

Nor  was  he  ruffled  when  he  found  Moore  still  asleep. 
He  reveled  at  the  chance  to  go  alone  into  the  bush  with 
the  savages.  Suppose  they  did  murder  a  white  man  for 
a  mere  blanket ;  suppose  they  murdered  him  now  for  his 
firearms  and  the  money  he  had  about  him?  Every 
hunt  has  in  it  the  danger  of  exploding  firearms  and 
attacks  from  wild  beasts  and  serpents.  Multiplied 
dangers  only  enhance  the  joy  of  braving  them. 

Huntingdon  tried  to  make  himself  clear  in  the  little 
pidgin  English  he  had  picked  up. 

"  Ogula,  you  fit  fer  tek  Master  Huntingdon  for  bush 
for  look  bushcow?  " 

"  I  fit,  Master,  proper  fit,"  and  Ogula  reared  his  head 
proudly. 

"  You  savvy  them  bush,  Ogula." 

"  Me?  I  savvy  him  proper.  Me,  I  be  proper  shoot 
man  mpolo,  mpolo,1  Me  I  mek  so  aver  since  I  be  small 
boy  all  same  so  —  "  and  he  measured  a  trifle  above  the 
white  man's  knee.  Then,  with  eloquent  gestures  and  in 
low,  guttural  tones,  he  pantomimed  game,  little  and  big, 
timid  and  bold. 

Huntingdon  instinctively  read  human  beings ;  let 
i  Great,  great. 


140  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Ogula  be  otherwise  a  murderer,  a  liar  and  a  thief,  there 
was  no  doubt  he  was  bold,  strong  and  experienced  in 
woodcraft. 

"  Master  fit  gimme  me  'nuther  shootman  ?  "  he  sud 
denly  demanded. 

"  I  fit." 

"  We  look  um,"  and  Ogula  led  the  way  south  along 
the  beach  to  some  rude  huts  hidden  among  the  bamboos 
and  mangroves.  In  one  of  them  he  held  short  converse. 
He  emerged,  followed  by  a  savage  larger  and  more  mag 
nificent  than  himself.  He,  like  Ogula,  wore  the  scanti 
est  of  loin  cloths,  but,  instead  of  a  gun,  he  was  armed 
with  a  long  spear,  pointed  with  iron. 

"  Him  be  my  proper  brudder,  Master,"  explained 
Ogula,  proudly.  "  Him  and  me  have  all  same  mudder 
and  fadder.  Him  name  be  Nkombi  Kakhi.  We  be 
Nkomis  from  Mboue.  Him  savvy  Englis  for  him 
mouth,  all  same  like  me,  Ogula,  him  brudder." 

"  Good  evening,  Master  Huntingdon,  tata  otangani 
mpolo,"  said  Nkombi  Kakhi  solemnly.  "  I  be  proper 
shoot  man,  all  same  like  my  brudder,  Ogula  Kakhi. 
I  fit  fer  take  walk  for  bush.  Fouru  mbani,  mbani," 
and  he  held  four  fingers  before  the  lantern. 

Huntingdon  comprehended  he  was  naming  his  wages 
for  the  day.  They  were  four  something,  but  what,  he 
had  no  means  of  knowing. 

"  Fouru  mbani,  mbani  be  all  right,"  he  agreed. 

"  Aye,"  grunted  Nkombi  Kakhi. 

Without  further  palaver  the  line  of  march  was  formed, 
and,  in  single  file,  the  men  started  for  the  bush. 

Nkombi  Kakhi  led  the  way ;  then  came  Ora  with  the 
lantern  and  Huntingdon's  scatter  gun ;  Ogula  with  his 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  141 

blunderbuss  on  his  shoulder  and  a  bark  powder  box 
slung  across  his  broad  back ;  Huntingdon  with  his  rifle, 
and,  last,  Mbega  with  a  chop  box  on  his  head  and  sev 
eral  sticks  of  manioc  dangling  from  his  neck. 

The  one-man-wide  path  zigzagged  across  the  Plains 
of  Mandji,  and  not  a  word  was  spoken.  The  stars  were 
large  and  near,  scintillating  like  great  arc  lights,  and, 
now  and  then,  one  of  them  plunged  headlong  into  limit 
less  space. 

How  strange  it  all  seemed:  no  hunting  party  in  pink 
and  spurs ;  no  horses,  no  dogs,  no  retainers,  none  of  the 
fanfare  accompanying  a  made-to-order  hunt  at  home, 
where  men  ride  recklessly  after  hounds  to  round  up  a 
lonely  fox,  or  a  hare,  or  possibly  both ! 

Suddenly  a  dark  wall  arose. 

"  Bush,"  grunted  Ogula,  the  shootman.  "  No  fit  to 
look  um  'till  day  he  ketch,"  and  he  dropped  on  the 
ground,  followed  by  the  others. 

The  minutes  dragged  slowly. 

The  night  chorus  swelled  louder  and  louder:  frogs, 
crickets,  cicadas,  katydids,  sang  in  tuneless  stridulation, 
insistent  and  rasping. 

In  the  bush  beyond  there  was  a  cracking  of  twigs, 
betraying  the  prowling  of  wild  beasts ;  suddenly,  a 
monkey  screamed  like  a  frightened  woman;  a  hyena 
laughed  in  harsh  staccato,  and  the  thin  cry  of  bats 
was  followed  by  a  cough,  on  the  ground  and  near  at 
hand. 

"  Njego"  muttered  Ora,  in  an  awesome  whisper, 
hastily  smothering  his  light. 

The  heads  of  the  savages  bent  low;  they  listened  with 
every  sense  alert,  their  hunting  knives  ready. 


142  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Huntingdon  never  knew  how  close  death  was  as  a 
leopard  slunk  by  intent  upon  a  gazelle. 

Then  there  came  a  cracking  of  twigs,  the  startled, 
sharp  cry  of  the  gazelle,  a  short  struggle,  and  the  rapid 
flight  of  the  bush  cat. 

The  savages  relaxed ;  they  stretched  full  length  on  the 
ground ;  danger  from  that  source  had  passed. 

Silence  fell,  deep,  profound,  terrible.  It  held  more 
menace  than  did  the  pulsating,  unseen  life  so  suddenly 
and  mysteriously  hushed. 

The  savages  were  so  quiet  they  might  have  been  part 
of  inanimate  nature  herself. 

Night's  dewy  breath  burrowed  to  the  very  marrow 
of  Huntingdon's  bones.  Yet  he  feared  to  shiver,  feared 
to  break  that  all-embracing,  terrifying  stillness.  It  had 
fallen  swiftly  and  without  warning  as  though  some 
monster  had  gripped  all  nature  by  the  throat  and  throt 
tled  her  before  she  had  time  even  to  gasp ! 

Huntingdon  felt  the  superiority  of  the  savages.  They 
rested,  tranquilly  and  naturally,  while  he  was  agitated 
and  unnatural.  If  now,  in  the  darkness,  in  that  clammy 
stillness,  he  must  needs  battle  for  his  life,  what  availed 
the  schooling  of  civilization  against  the  natural  cunning 
of  the  savage? 

After  all,  what  is  civilization?  Can  it  overcome  death 
when  the  final  summons  comes?  Can  it  alter  one  little 
law  in  the  vast  infinite?  On  the  threshold  of  the  Great 
Unknown  does  the  civilized  not  suffer  more  acutely 
than  the  savage?  His  the  power  to  conjecture  the 
hinted-at  might-be's  of  eternity.  Save  where  the  witch 
doctor,  the  sorcerer  and  secret  poisons  are  concerned, 
the  savage  knows  no  mental  torture,  he  knows  naught  of 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  143 

the  agony  of  the  sins  of  commission  and  of  omission,  the 
dreadful  knowing  of  hydra-headed  Remorse !  Is  he  not 
then  superior  to  the  white  man?  Does  not  his  very 
savagery,  his  ignorance,  clothe  him  in  a  sort  of  bravery 
impossible  to  the  civilized?  Huntingdon's  thoughts 
suddenly  failed  him,  for,  without  warning,  a  cry,  sharp 
and  shrill,  cut  the  uncanny  stillness,  and  Huntingdon 
shivered  with  fright.  He  held  his  breath,  waiting  for 
he  knew  not  what,  when  other  cries  of  the  same  timbre 
followed,  and  a  flock  of  partridges  flew  from  their  roost 
ing  place! 

"  Day  he  ketch,"  and  Ogula  pointed  towards  the  east. 

Out  of  the  womb  of  blue-black  night  there  crept  an 
ethereal  blue,  that  blue  that  makes  of  Africa  a  dream 
world  of  entrancing  delights ;  a  creation  of  Merlin,  the 
magician,  where  shadows  are  noiselessly  banished  and 
into  being  comes  day's  countless  glories. 

Drowsily  the  bay  awoke  from  the  arms  of  Shadow- 
land.  It  stretched  itself  languorously  and  amorously. 
Its  impressionable  bosom  reflected  the  sky's  soft  color 
ing,  while  away  off,  towards  Fetish  Point,  whitecaps 
danced,  where  bay  and  ocean  met. 

Again  the  pageant  of  morning  enthralled  Hunting 
don.  He  would  have  liked  to  dream  on,  for  several  hours 
until  the  sun  arose,  but  in  the  bush  the  chase  beckoned, 
and  the  savages  were  already  on  the  march. 

"  Plenty  beef  tek  walk,"  exclaimed  Nkombi  Kakhi,  his 
eyes  keenly  searching  the  plains.  "  Master  fit  fer  tek 
plenty,  mpolo!  " 

Huntingdon  hid  his  amazement  as  signs  unnoticed  by 
him  were  readily  interpreted  by  those  men  of  the  bush. 
Yet  all  his  faculties  were  at  work.  He  determined  to 


144  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

learn  the  ways  of  the  wild  folk ;  to  fashion  his  behavior 
after  that  of  the  savages,  for  he  realized  that  hunting 
in  Africa  was  a  science  in  itself. 

He  followed  the  savages  into  gloom  and  dampness ;  the 
air  was  heavy  and  foul;  his  new,  leather  hunting  boots 
slipped  repeatedly  and  he  would  have  fallen  but  crowd 
ing  vegetation  at  which  he  blindly  clutched  kept  him  up 
right.  The  path  was  narrow,  and  he  could  not  see  it; 
he  wondered  how  the  savages  went  along  so  rapidly  and 
sure-footed  and  how  they  protected  their  eyes  from  the 
swaying  overgrowth.  He  lowered  his  chin  and  let  his 
stout  helmet  bear  the  brunt  of  it.  He  felt  as  though  he 
were  burrowing  after  some  beast  through  walls  of  dense 
growth  which  threatened  every  second  to  close  in  upon 
and  smother  him ;  he  was  drenched  to  the  skin  with  per 
spiration  and  the  heavy  dew  which  dripped  all  about  it 
as  though  it  were  raining;  but  not  a  protest  or  sign  of 
weariness  escaped  him  as  he  followed  close  on  the  heels 
of  his  guides  with  Mbega  just  behind  him. 

Gradually,  the  shadows  lifted  and  revealed  was  the 
jungle ! 

Time  and  time  again  had  Huntingdon  tried  to  picture 
the  primeval  bush,  but  not  once  had  his  mental  camera 
registered  anything  like  that  Garden  of  Nature  run  riot. 
The  growth  was  astonishingly  dense,  forming  galleries 
intricate,  shadowy,  mysterious  and  leading  far  away. 
There  were  labyrinths  within  labyrinths,  a  network  of 
tangled  vines  and  creepers  decorated  lavishly,  wantonly 
and  superbly.  Not  the  slightest  thing,  high  or  low,  was 
acquit  of  burden -b earin g :  stems  of  trees,  fallen  logs, 
and  interlaced  lianes  contained  worlds  of  their  very  own, 
as  green  upon  green  and  all  shades  of  green  were  crowd- 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  145 

ing,  pushing,  fighting  for  space,  climbing  up  and  ever 
up  away  from  density,  shadows,  foul  miasmas  and  dank, 
reeking  vegetable  mold  towards  the  heights  where  the 
sun  shone  and  winds  frolicked  and  the  rains  fell. 

The  lush  and  reek  of  green,  of  every  hue  and  shade, 
would  have  depressed,  repulsed,  had  not  artistic  Nature 
blended  with  it  bold  splashes  of  brilliant,  harmonizing 
colors.  Ipomeae  shaded  from  palest  blue,  through  all 
the  shades  of  the  prism  to  deepest  red ;  broad-leafed 
Hibisci  flowered  with  white  and  yellow  blooms ;  deep 
yellow  Thunbergia  and  gorgeous-hued  Convolvuli  peeped 
forth  here  and  there  and  everywhere ;  great  mangroves 
blushed  in  scarlet  berries  and  silk  cottonwoods  rollicked 
with  bursting,  downy  pods.  Timid  orchids  of  various 
hues  encouraged  by  bold  elephant-ear  ferns,  a  sort  of 
lichen  that  grew  to  the  trees,  crawled  up  and  ever  up 
to  great  heights  where  garlands  of  aromatic  jessamine 
swayed  to  and  fro  in  the  very  ecstasy  of  life  and  where 
the  climbing  calamus  palm,  a  dainty,  green  fringe  hung 
in  fascinating  festoons,  forming  the  crowning  glory  to 
the  parasitical  growth  of  bizarre  forms  which  every 
where  arrested  the  eye  and  impeded  progress ! 

Huntingdon  stepped  aside  to  possess  himself  of  an 
Argrcecum  orchid. 

Crash ! 

He  wallowed  in  mire  which  clung  to  him  like  axle 
grease.  He  regained  his  footing  with  difficulty.  What 
looked  like  solid  earth  was  but  dense  growth  mask 
ing  malodorous,  pestilential  underworlds,  grewsome 
and  repellent,  the  home  of  creeping,  crawling,  eye 
less  things,  the  grave  of  bloom  and  leaf  and  shrub  and 
tree! 


146  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

But  never  was  grave  so  cunningly  and  fascinatingly 
hidden. 

There  were  thorny  shrubs ;  prickly  smilax ;  stout  reed 
Costus,  fully  fifteen  feet  high ;  gigantic  clumps  of  gray- 
green  grass ;  purple-leafed  Cissus;  aloes  blushing  in 
coral  reds ;  masses  of  Zingeberaceae  and  Arums  with 
gorgeously  colored  leaves  'midst  a  perfect  wilderness 
of  stemless  ferns  drooping  like  huge  plumes  and  swaying 
at  the  slightest  touch  of  human  or  of  beast. 

Trees  were  many  and  diverse ;  of  all  sizes  and  shapes, 
health  and  vigor,  youth,  and  old  age,  decline  and  death ! 
Termites,  too,  were  there,  always  hungry,  never  satisfied, 
never  at  rest!  Time,  too,  demanded  his  toll.  Many 
died  that  fewer  might  live.  The  battle  for  the  survival 
of  the  fittest  was  relentlessly  and  continuously  fought ; 
life  and  death  walked  hand  in  hand ;  the  seared,  the 
yellow,  looked  over  the  shoulder  of  youth  and  bloom ; 
autumn  and  summer  seasoned  together  as  growth  upon 
growth,  a  hungry  horde,  an  army  of  green,  fought  for 
life  and  supremacy,  'midst  dull  obscurity  and  eternal 
gloom  and  foul-smelling,  poisonous  vapors ! 

Huntingdon  reveled  in  it  all  —  now  depressed  when 
sinking  in  mire  and  leaf-mold,  now  elated  when  on  firm 
ground  he  stopped  to  admire  the  different  blooms, 
delicate,  fragile  and  without  perfume. 

He  wished  Marjorie  were  with  him  to  enjoy  it.  He 
knew  he  could  never  effectively  describe  it  to  her  for 
to  no  human  is  given  the  art  to  paint  Nature  in  all  her 
nuances,  to  tint  with  words  a  faithful  reproduction  of 
the  real ! 

Nkombi  Kakhi  stood  silently  by  Huntingdon  as  he 
examined  the  bush.  Unknown  to  the  white  man,  the 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  147 

black  man's  keen  eyes  pierced  shadows  underneath  and 
overhead.  Danger  was  everywhere !  above  and  below, 
and  roundabout;  it  might  come  any  second,  from  any 
direction  and  the  savage  was  acutely  alert. 

A  strong,  disgusting  odor  assailed  Huntingdon's  nos 
trils,  overpowering  even  the  jungle's  dank  breath. 

"Him  be  cat,"  explained  Nkombi  Kakhi.  "White 
man  call  urn  civet.  Plenty  live."  Then,  after  a  pause, 
the  savage  said,  with  pride :  "  Black  man  too,  him  got 
name  for  all  t'ing  what  live  for  we  country." 

Huntingdon  smiled  inwardly  at  the  simplicity  of  the 
great  bushman.  He  was  as  a  child  enumerating  his 
toys  and  naming  them. 

A  plaintive  cry  came  from  the  gloomy  depths,  fol 
lowed  by  a  quick  rustling,  coming  nearer. 

"  Monkey  live,"  whispered  Nkombi  Kakhi,  as  a  small, 
yellowish  monkey  looked  mildly  down.  Then  a  white- 
nosed  monkey,  a  red-headed  monkey  and  a  black  monkey 
became  visible,  but,  startled  at  the  presence  of  human 
beings,  they  leaped  from  tree  to  tree,  scrambled  over 
tangled  vines  and  were  gone. 

"  Gorilla  he  live  too?  "  questioned  Huntingdon. 

"  Njina  live  one,  one.  Him  mek  roar  so  " —  and 
Nkombi  Kakhi  roared  deep  and  long.  "  Pas'  lion  for 
strong." 

"  Chimpanzee,  he  live  too?  " 

"  Plenty,  plenty." 

Nkombi  Kakhi  was  again  in  the  lead,  and  Huntingdon 
followed. 

"  Nchouna,  nchouna,"  the  savage  suddenly  shrieked 
with  terror  and  was  off  like  mad. 

Huntingdon  stood  still,  paralysed  with  fear. 


148  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Was  a  leopard  overhead  making  ready  to  spring,  or 
was  a  deadly  cobra  spitting  at  him  from  below ! 

He  was  not  long  in  doubt. 

On  his  entire  body  he  felt  sharp,  painful  stings.  Red- 
brown  ants  swarmed  all  over  him.  At  his  feet  was  the 
army  he  had  routed.  There  were  millions  of  them ! 

Huntingdon  recalled  old  Wallace's  croaking  about 
the  driver  ants,  corroborated  by  Sadler,  Smithson  and 
Moore.  Woe  to  the  human  being  who  fled  not  at  their 
first  sting.  He  never  lived  to  flee  again !  He  was  de 
voured  and  his  bones  picked  as  clean  as  though  jackals 
had  been  at  work ! 

No  doubt  about  it ;  the  drivers  could  bite. 

"  Nchouna,  nchouna!  "  warned  Nkombi  Kakhi  from 
a  safe  distance.  "  Mek  so,"  and  the  bushman  gestured 
for  the  white  man  to  leap. 

Huntingdon  did  so. 

But  the  stings  went  with  him.  They  became  intoler 
able. 

"  Fit  to  tek  them  so,"  and  Nkombi  Kakhi  indicated 
that  Huntingdon  must  strip  himself. 

Huntingdon's  impulse  was  to  scorn  the  suggestion. 
But  he  was  glad  to  comply  and  let  Nkombi  Kakhi  help 
kill  the  drivers  on  his  body  and  rid  his  clothing  of  them. 

Some  distance  ahead,  the  rest  of  the  caravan  reposed 
upon  a  fallen  log. 

"  Nchouna"  briefly  explained  Nkombi  Kakhi. 

The  delay  was  sufficiently  accounted  for. 

The  march  proceeded  for  some  time  in  silence. 

"  Crack !  "  it  was  Ogula's  gun  that  spoke,  and  at  a 
sharp  command  from  the  savage,  Ora  was  off  like  an 
arrow,  bending  low  the  better  to  pass  through  the 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  149 

tangled  growth,  while  Ogula  k'ept  up  a  running  conver 
sation  with  him,  advising  what  direction  to  take  and 
what  he  would  find. 

Then  Ora  uttered  one  word,  and  Ogula  announced: 

"  Him  be  leopard.      Ora  look  'um." 

Huntingdon  masked  his  impatience  for  his  first  sight 
of  an  African  leopard.  He  had  been  told  it  was  more 
handsome  than  the  Asiatic,  its  spots  being  very  distinct 
and  clear  and  the  coloring  more  pronounced.  He  heard 
Ora  returning  through  the  brush,  the  twigs  breaking 
under  his  feet,  and  Huntingdon  wondered  how  one  man 
could  carry  a  leopard.  Verily  the  savages  did  strange 
and  wonderful  things ! 

Nearer  and  nearer  came  Ora ;  he  was  close  at  hand, 
and  great  indeed  was  Huntingdon's  surprise  when  not 
a  leopard,  but  a  great  eagle  was  laid  at  his  feet !  Its 
breast  was  spotted  like  a  leopard's  and  it  measured  fully 
seven  feet  from  tip  to  tip  of  its  wings ! 

"  Him  be  leopard  of  the  air  and  him  name  for  we  peo 
ples  be  guanionien,"  explained  Nkb'mbi  Kakhi. 
"  Guanionien  mek  so,"  and  he  worked  his  legs  and  arms 
indicating  high,  rapid  flight.  "  Tree  mpolo,  mpolo, 
never  ketch  him  feet.  Him  live  for  top,  so  —  '  and 
straight  and  high  went  Nkombi  Kakhi's  arms. 

The  bird  was  left  behind,  and  the  march  proceeded. 

The  path  led  into  a  mangrove  swamp  where  giant 
trees  with  countless  branches  like  wriggling  snakes 
crawled  in  all  directions.  Huntingdon's  ankles  were 
twisted  and  tortured  from  slipping  upon  the  slimy 
feelers,  which,  like  the  fingers  of  gaunt  skeletons,  grasp 
and  overthrow  the  unwary.  He  was  infinitely  relieved 
when  his  guides  plunged  into  a  morass  covered  with 


150  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

papyrus  fully  eighteen  feet  high  and  emerged  on  the 
bank  of  a  picturesque  rivulet  diapered  with  duck  weeds, 
water  ferns  and  ambatch. 

The  savages  balanced  themselves  on  one  elbow,  and 
drank  deeply  of  the  running  water.  The  ambatch  was 
in  full  bloom,  and  Huntingdon  stooped  to  examine  its 
orange-hued  flowers,  when  he  drew  back,  fascinated  by 
a  brilliant  monitor  lizard,  fully  six  feet  long  which  lay 
asleep  in  the  shade,  and  by  the  nose  of  a  crocodile 
dangerously  near.  He  had  no  desire  for  intimate  ac 
quaintance  with  the  man-eating  saurian,  and  he  quickly 
moved  to  the  side  of  Ogula.  The  latter  pointed  to  a 
broad  depression  which  showed  plainly  through  the  pa 
pyrus  on  the  other  side  of  the  stream  and  grunted: 

"  River  Horse." 

No  hippopotamus  was  visible,  but  hoof  prints  lead  in 
all  directions  from  the  stream,  betraying  a  much-fre 
quented  drinking  spot  for  game. 

Ogula  was  intently  studying  the  ground. 

"  Beef  lib  this  way,"  he  finally  grunted.  Disdaining 
the  sticky  depths,  he  plunged  into  the  morass. 

Huntingdon  was  about  to  follow,  when  Nkombi  Kakhi 
bent  his  broad  back,  and  lightly  carried  Huntingdon 
across. 

A  savannah,  wind-swept  and  barren,  was  reached. 

The  sun  was  high  in  the  heavens.  After  the  somber 
shadows  of  the  bush  its  glare  pained  Huntingdon,  and 
the  heat  was  of  bake-oven  temperature.  Yet  the  open 
was  a  relief  after  the  dank,  foul-smelling  jungle. 

Under  the  shade  of  immense  cottonwoods  at  the  edge 
of  the  plain,  Ogula  commanded  a  halt. 

He    gave    express,    minute    instructions    to    Mbega. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  151 

Then,  followed  by  Ora  and  Nkombi  Kakhi,  he  went  forth 
to  reconnoitre. 

Mbega  at  once  built  a  fire  of  twigs  and  prepared 
Huntingdon's  breakfast. 

Huntingdon  was  glad  of  the  rest ;  he  was  hungry  and 
tired ;  his  feet  pained  him  horribly  and  he  was  mud  and 
slime  almost  to  his  waist  and  so  wet  was  his  coat  from 
the  excessive  perspiration  that  he  could  have  wrung  it. 
But,  as  he  ate  his  breakfast  of  hot  coffee,  boiled  eggs 
and  bread  and  butter,  his  clothing  dried,  then,  stretch 
ing  himself  in  the  shade,  he  gave  himself  to  his  pipe 
and  relaxation. 

He  was  too  drowsy  for  thought  and  was  lazily 
gazing  at  Mbega,  when  he  saw  the  bushboy  suddenly 
drop  on  all  fours,  and,  with  his  great  knife  in  his  mouth, 
crawl  cautiously  towards  the  bush. 

Huntingdon  was  instantly  alert;  he  sat  up,  grasped 
his  rifle  and  waited. 

He  was  conscious  of  a  soft  tread  in  the  bush,  then 
he  saw  the  tall  grass  move  in  response  to  the  creature 
stealing  through  it.  E'er  long  a  tiny  gazelle  advanced 
timidly  to  the  open,  and,  startled  by  the  on-crawling 
bushboy,  stood  still. 

Huntingdon  took  his  sights,  but  e'er  his  hand  could 
obey  the  impulse  of  his  brain  to  fire,  a  thrilling  tragedy 
took  place  which  held  him  fascinated.  A  huge  python 
suddenly  seized  the  gazelle  in  his  teeth,  crushed  the  life 
out  of  it,  then  enormously  extending  his  jaws  and  emit 
ting  great  quantities  of  saliva,  slowly  and  torturously 
he  commenced  to  swallow  the  gentle  creature,  head  first ! 
Its  sides  heaved  convulsively  and  its  delicate  legs 
twitched  violently.  The  spectacle  was  too  much  for  the 


152  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

white  man,  and  his  soft-nosed  bullet  flattened  itself  in 
the  head  of  the  snake,  killing  him  instantly.  The  snake 
was  fully  twenty  feet  long  and  his  coloring  was  distinc 
tive  and  beautiful,  but  Huntingdon  would  not  permit 
Mbega  to  skin  him.  He  wanted  none  of  it ;  he  resented 
the  creature's  attack  upon  the  antelope,  yet,  had  another 
antelope  appeared,  Huntingdon  would  have  blazed  away 
and  killed  it  on  sight  —  such  is  the  consistency  and 
mercy  of  man ! 

The  noise  of  Huntingdon's  shot  brought  back  the 
others. 

In  a  few  words,  but  with  eloquent  gestures,  Mbega 
explained  what  had  happened. 

It  brought  forth  no  comment. 

Ogula  reported  that  a  herd  of  buffalo  had  recently 
passed.  He  suggested  proceeding  softly,  softly  to  the 
leeward. 

The  trail  was  taken  up. 

In  silence  the  hunters  crept  along  the  shadowy  bush, 
at  the  edge  of  the  plain,  then  boldly  advanced  over  sun 
baked  space. 

Despite  his  recent  food  and  rest,  Huntingdon  suffered 
from  thirst  and  fatigue.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life 
his  gun  was  a  burden  and  his  clothing  oppressed  and 
hampered  him.  He  was  soft  after  the  sea  voyage. 
He  ought  to  have  had  better  sense  than  to  set  out  so 
soon  on  a  strenuous  hunt ! 

In  a  sandy  depression  was  a  stagnant  pool,  from 
which  Mbega  drank  greedily.  He  caught  Hunting 
don's  eye  as  he  arose  and  from  the  chop-box  he  brought 
forth  a  bottle  of  Bordeaux  wine!  Huntingdon  drank 
it  eagerly. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  153 

Of  course  Mbega  had  drink  with  him,  but  Hunting 
don  had  not  thought  to  demand  it.  However,  it  was  not 
Mbega  Huntingdon  had  to  thank  for  his  well-supplied 
chop-box.  It  was  Ogula,  Ogula  who  had  at  first  glance 
recognized  in  Huntingdon  a  superior  even  among  white 
men ;  a  man  he  was  proud  of  and  willing  to  serve ;  a  man 
he  was  content  to  call  master. 

A  big  chief  was  Ogula  among  the  Nkomis.  His 
name  meant  tornado  and  Ogula  was  worthy  of  that 
name.  He  was  fearless  and  bold.  When  he  once  made 
up  his  mind  to  charge  man  or  wild  beast,  he  never  hesi 
tated.  He  rushed  forth  with  incredible  speed.  He 
bore  down  his  prey  by  virtue  of  his  very  audacity. 

And  over  there,  behind  those  squat  bushes,  Ogula 
sat,  a  little  in  advance  of  his  white  master  —  his  ears 
attuned  to  the  bush  and  its  myriad  sounds,  his  eyes 
in  admiration  and  awe  on  the  strange  white  man,  who 
sat  silent  and  indifferent,  as  though  he  had  known  the 
bush  and  its  denizens  all  his  life.  Ogula  thought  on 
other  white  men  he  had  served ;  men  restless,  nervous, 
without  endurance,  and  at  heart  cowardly.  He  had 
nothing  but  contempt  —  all  the  great  contempt  of  the 
savage  —  for  any  form  of  weakness.  And  now  to  his 
country  had  come  a  man  worthy  of  respect  and  faithful 
service,  a  man  who  was  indeed  a  Great  White  King ! 

Thus  the  wait  began. 

Huntingdon  crouched  in  deep  grass ;  bugs  of  all  sorts 
crawled  over  him ;  wasps  buzzed  in  his  ears ;  mosquitoes 
tortured  him  and  he  was  covered  with  sandflies,  but  he 
remained  motionless. 

He  remembered  that  he  and  the  quarry  were  stalking 
each  other.  The  quarry's  life  depended  upon  his  eye- 


154  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

sight,  his  sense  of  smell,  of  hearing;  and,  most  impor 
tant  of  all,  he  was  at  home,  and  on  the  defensive ! 
Huntingdon's  life  depended  upon  his  senses,  his  ability 
to  make  himself  a  part  of  his  surroundings,  to  sight  and 
fire  on  the  instant.  His  was  the  greater  danger.  He 
was  an  intruder,  his  senses  less  keenly  developed  than 
that  of  the  beasts  ! 

He  noticed  how  Ogula's  skin  and  dingy  loin  cloth 
toned  in  with  the  surroundings.  He  could  not  see  the 
other  savages  but  he  knew  they  were  there,  inanimate  as 
the  very  bush  itself! 

He  determined  to  endure  just  as  long  as  the  savages 
did.  To  remain  inert  like  them.  He  pondered  on  the 
astonishing  density  of,  and  activity  in,  the  bush. 

The  seemingly  dead  spot  simply  teemed  with  incessant 
life. 

Termites  were  voraciously  feeding ;  ants  were  con 
structing  wonderful  houses  of  clay;  drivers  were  mak 
ing  a  bridge  over  a  depression ;  wasps  were  busy  on  mud- 
houses  ;  enormous  spiders,  the  greatest  he  had  ever  seen 
and  said  to  be  the  largest  in  the  world,  were  weaving 
huge  webs. 

A  green  pigeon  perched  inert  upon  a  bush;  here  and 
there  an  owl  dozed;  a  sunbird  with  its  peculiarly  con 
stituted  tongue  sipped  honey  from  an  amaryllis;  gor 
geous  butterflies  chased  each  other  playfully ;  moths 
were  laying  eggs ;  bees  were  gathering  honey ;  insect  fed 
upon  insect ;  big  preyed  upon  little. 

Birds  known  only  in  the  museums  of  Europe  were 
everywhere :  large  turacos ;  magnificent  blue  plantain- 
eaters  ;  gray  parrots  with  brilliant  pink  tail  feathers  ; 
elegantly  plumed  peafowls ;  pink  flamingoes ;  white  peli- 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  155 

cans ;  cranes ;  ibis ;  egrets  ;  small,  graceful  honeysuck- 
ers ;  sun  birds  gorgeous  as  j  ewels ;  black  swallows  with 
a  solitary  spot  like  silver  on  the  throat ;  seagulls,  herons 
and  marabouts. 

Huntingdon's  hand  was  stayed.  He  knew  a  time 
would  come  for  bird  shooting.  Now  the  wait  was  for 
bigger  game. 

On  the  ground  were  spoor  and  droppings.  Hunting 
don  studied  the  difference  between  new  and  stale  traces. 

The  sun  was  overhead. 

High  noon  had  come. 

The  heat  was  oppressive.  It  arose  from  the  sandy 
wastes  in  waves,  blistering  and  blasting. 

Huntingdon's  position  became  irksome.  He  could  no 
longer  stand  the  assault  of  insects.  He  longed  to  get 
up  and  stretch.  He  essayed  to  rise,  when,  on  his  sensi 
tive  ear  was  borne  the  nervous  tread  of  some  animal  on 
the  watch. 

Interest  banished  fatigue. 

Again  he  was  motionless.     Every  sense  was  alert. 

The  nervous  tread  passed  to  the  rear  and  Ogula  be 
gan  to  crawl  cautiously  forward.  Huntingdon  fol 
lowed.  Through  an  opening  in  the  bush,  he  saw  a  sight 
that  banished  all  fatigue  and  brought  him  the  greatest 
delight  of  his  whole  life. 

Rolling  on  the  hot,  scrub-grass-dotted  plain  was  the 
unsuspecting  game :  a  buffalo  bull  and  two  cows ! 

Huntingdon's  excitement  was  so  intense,  that  gone  was 
all  precaution.  He  was  on  his  feet,  his  eyes  along  the 
barrel  of  his  rifle. 

Quick  as  he  was,  the  game  was  quicker!  Alarmed,  it 
was  on  the  run,  heading  for  cover. 


156  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Huntingdon  forged  to  the  opening,  so  that  impeding 
branches  would  not  turn  aside  his  shot. 

Ogula  was  provoked  because  the  white  man  had  so 
recklessly  disturbed  the  quarry,  but  his  sullenness  was 
no  sooner  born  than  it  gave  way  to  wonder,  as  Hunting 
don's  rifle  spoke,  once,  twice,  thrice  ! 

A  cow  dropped  in  her  tracks ;  another  disappeared 
in  the  bush,  wounded,  leaving  a  trail  of  blood  on  the 
white  sand.  The  bull,  the  first  to  scent  danger,  sud 
denly  stopped  in  his  mad  flight  and  turned  to  face  his 
pursuers ! 

Huntingdon,  Ogula  and  Nkombi  Kakhi  were  advanc 
ing  on  a  quick  run.  Ogula's  gun  had  not  yet  spoken, 
but  as  the  bull  charged  furiously  forward,  he  aimed  and 
fired !  The  shot  grazed  the  bull's  flank.  With  head 
down,  and  straight  for  Huntingdon,  the  maddened,  in 
furiated  creature  charged ! 

With  lowered  gun,  Ogula  was  rapidly  stuffing  shot 
home ! 

Nkombi  Kakhi  braced  himself,  his  spear  held  aloft ! 

Mbega,  scared,  hugged  the  earth ! 

Ora  stood  still  in  his  tracks.  He  carried  Hunting 
don's  scatter-gun  but  he  knew  not  how  to  use  it.  Sud 
denly  he  grasped  its  butt  and  stood  on  the  defensive ! 

On  came  the  bull,  gaining  momentum  as  he  sped ! 
His  eyes  were  wild  and  the  sun  was  full  in  them. 
Huntingdon  recalled  the  vindictiveness  of  the  animal, 
his  almost  human  desire  for  vengeance. 

Huntingdon  was  never  so  sure  of  eye,  nor  steady  of 
nerve  and  hand.  He  knew  his  danger,  and  beneath  it 
his  judgment  was  cool,  his  wits  clear! 

He  meant  to   plug   the  beast's   eyes,   one   after   the 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  157 

other  —  a  double  shot  in  which  he  was  proficient,  but 
o'er  his  head  something  whizzed  through  space ! 

'Twas  Nkombi  Kakhi's  spear,  hurled  with  unerring 
aim  and  almost  superhuman  force ! 

It  caught  the  advancing  beast  in  the  nose  and  caused 
him  to  throw  up  his  head  in  protest! 

At  one  and  the  same  time,  the  guns  of  Huntingdon 
and  Ogula  spoke! 

The  double  shot  was  buried  in  the  brute's  throat ! 

So  great  had  been  his  impetus,  that  he  continued  to 
plunge  forward;  then,  suddenly,  like  a  lead  thing,  he 
dropped. 

Huntingdon  rushed  forward  and  was  about  to  bend 
over  the  animal  so  eager  was  he  to  examine  his  first  bush- 
cow,  when  something  took  him  from  behind,  lifted  him 
up  and  deposited  him  out  of  reach  of  the  bull's  legs ! 

'Twas  Nkombi  Kakhi,  stern  disapproval  on  his  face, 
and  his  voice  was  harsh  as  he  muttered: 

"  White  man  damn  fool  look  niare  l  so.  Him  no  be 
dead  —  look  um !  " 

Huntingdon  looked. 

Fighting  to  rise,  kicking  viciously,  and  endeavoring 
to  annihilate  his  enemies,  the  buffalo  finally  and  reluc 
tantly  yielded  the  ghost. 

Huntingdon  turned  to  where  the  wounded  cow  had 
fallen.  She  was  nowhere  to  be  seen !  A  trail  of  blood 
led  to  the  bush. 

This  time  it  was  Ogula  who  stayed  Huntingdon. 

"  Master,  niare  from  bush  look  white  man.  White 
man  no  fit  fer  look  um.  This  one,  he  be  plenty,  plenty." 

The  excitement  of  the  chase  over,  the  game  bagged, 

i  Buffalo. 


158  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Huntingdon  was  suddenly  overwhelmed  with  lassitude ; 
he  was  glad  to  seek  the  shade,  to  stretch  out  at  full 
length,  to  remain  tranquil  while  his  hunters  took  their 
first  meal  of  the  day ;  then,  they  too  rested,  after  which 
the  bull  was  cut  down  the  middle,  loaded  on  bamboo 
poles  and  shouldered  by  the  savages. 

The  homeward  march  was  slow  and  tiresome,  the  least 
attractive  of  the  day's  hunt,  and  one  which  hunters 
would  cheerfully  and  gladly  dispense  with.  But  all 
pleasures  have  their  attendant  miseries. 

From  the  spot  where  the  gazelle  and  python  lay,  a 
pair  of  vultures  arose. 

Huntingdon  was  too  tired  to  shoot  at  them. 

After  the  sandy,  hot  plain,  the  shadows  and  damp 
gloom  of  the  bush  were  welcome. 

Huntingdon  was  again  bathed  in  perspiration.  It 
oozed  through  his  cartridge  belt.  The  hat  band  of  his 
helmet  rubbed  his  head  sore.  His  ankles  twisted  and 
turned  in  the  underbrush.  His  feet  were  burned  and 
blistered  from  his  heavy  shoes.  He  felt  strangely  dis 
turbed,  restless,  nervous. 

'Twas  sundown  when  he  reached  the  bungalow.  He 
welcomed  the  sea  breeze  and  uncovered  his  head. 

Smithson,  Sadler  and  Moore  were  on  the  veranda 
sipping  pernaud. 

Their  excuses  were  many  for  not  having  kept  their 
engagement. 

Moore  complained  loudest  of  all.  He  thought 
Huntingdon  had  never  meant  to  go ;  that  he  was  only 
bluffing ! 

As  Huntingdon  swallowed  a  great  draught  of  ab 
sinthe,  he  sank  heavily  into  a  chair  and  stretched  out  his 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  159 

legs.     His  shoes,  new  that  morning,  were  skinned  and 
torn. 

"  Jove !  the  bally  things  do  hurt,"  was  all  he  said,  but 
Smithson  dropped  on  one  side  of  him  and  Sadler  on  the 
other.  They  removed  his  puttees  and  found  his  ankles 
so  swollen  that  the  shoe  laces  were  imbedded  in  and 
lacerated  the  flesh.  They  cut  the  laces,  but  pull  as 
hard  as  they  could,  the  shoes  would  not  budge ! 

Ogula  stood  by  and  tendered  his  knife. 

"  You  butcher  them,  Ogula,"  said  Smithson.  "  You 
be  surer  for  hand  than  white  man." 

Ogula  deftly  cut  the  shoes  from  vamp  to  tip.  Hunt 
ingdon's  balbriggan  socks  were  stained  with  blood  and 
stuck  to  his  heels. 

Before  the  white  men  knew  what  he  was  about,  with 
either  hand,  Ogula  had  jerked  off  a  sock!  Hunting 
don's  heels  were  rubbed  raw  to  the  bone ! 

Huntingdon  winced  once,  that  was  all.  He  straight 
ened  himself  and  tried  to  push  his  feet  under  him,  out 
of  sight,  but  the  white  men  understood. 

Smithson  gave  quick  command. 

Ngumbe  disappeared,  to  return  with  grease,  powder, 
antiseptic  cotton  and  ligatures. 

Gently  as  a  woman,  Smithson  dressed  the  heels  and 
teased : 
-  "  So  the  tenderfoot  would  a-hunting  go  !  " 

"  I  went,"  answered  Huntingdon,  grimly. 

"  And  the  penalty's  not  one  I'd  care  to  pay,"  croaked 
Moore.  "  You're  liable  to  have  raw  heels  for  an  indefi 
nite  souvenir.  Mebbe,  they'll  never  heal  —  in  this  cli 
mate.  You'll  get  craw-craw  sure!  Well,  pleasant 
scratching." 


160  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

"  Ah,  shut  up,  you  Old-bone-yard,"  cried  Sadler. 
"  Other  people's  blood  ain't  as  rotten  as  yours.  You'll 
be  all  right,  Mr.  Huntingdon  in  a  few  days.  Where's 
your  socks  and  'squeeter  boots  ?  " 

But  Huntingdon's  feet  refused  to  go  into  his  boots, 
soft,  pliant  and  large  though  the  latter  were. 

Sadler  stole  off  to  the  factory  and  returned  with  an 
enormous  pair  of  list  slippers. 

"  There's  your  size,  Mr.  Huntingdon,"  he  cried. 
"  Regular  seven  leaguers.  Into  them  and  don't  let  me 
hear  another  growl  from  you !  " 

Huntingdon  smiled  into  the  little  skipper's  ruddy, 
good-natured,  youthful  face. 

Where  was  the  selfishness  the  old  coasters  had 
croaked  of?  Not  there  among  those  Englishmen. 

"  Hurrah  for  the  tenderfoot,"  yelled  Sadler.  "  You 
got  your  bushcow,  old  sport.  Blood  tells  —  even  if  it 
does  trickle  out  of  your  heels." 

Vivre    la    France,     pomme-de-tcrre-frit,"     shouted 
Moore.     "  Who  says  the  English  can't  shoot !  " 

"  You  don't  call  yourself  a  shot,"  derided  Sadler, 
looking  the  great  Moore  over  insolently.  "  You  didn't 
show  up  this  morning  because  you're  such  a  rotten  shot 
you  didn't  want  to  make  an  ass  of  yourself  before  a  real 
hunter." 

"  G'wan,  you  don't  know  the  muzzle  from  the  butt," 
Moore  retaliated. 

A  shrill  blast  from  Smithson's  whistle  ended  the 
palaver. 

Ngumbe  was  ordered  to  get  the  buffalo  ready  for 
butchering. 

There  were  much  shouting  and  bustle  in  the  rear. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  161 

Boys  from  all  directions  were  gathering  for  their 
share  of  the  beef. 

On  the  plain,  women  were  constructing  racks  on  which 
to  roast  it  and  children  were  sent  for  firewood. 

The  night  was  soft  and  black.  The  watch's  fire 
blazed  on  the  beach,  and  from  the  little  Oka  a  red  light 
shone. 

"  Ready,  Master,"  announced  Ngumbe. 

On  the  rear  veranda  a  picturesque  scene  presented 
itself. 

Huge  lanterns  hung  from  the  low  grass-mat  roof 
directly  over  a  crude  table  on  which  lay  the  bull,  a 
hunting  knife  with  an  edge  as  keen  as  a  lancet  stuck 
in  his  thigh. 

Grouped  about  with  distended  eyes  and  gleaming 
teeth  were  the  crewboys  and  the  hunters. 

Their  presence  had  another  purpose  besides  securing 
a  share  of  the  beef.  When  a  kill  is  made  it  is  custom 
ary  to  send  choice  pieces  of  beef  to  all  white  men  in 
the  immediate  neighborhood.  The  boy  who  delivers  it 
is  sure  of  a  generous  portion  of  tobacco  as  a  reward. 

The  light  fell  full  upon  Smithson  as  he  stood  over 
the  bull.  He  was  in  white ;  his  great  felt  wide-awake 
was  on  the  back  of  his  head  and  his  sleeves  were  rolled 
up.  A  refined,  quick,  bright  figure  he  was,  encircled  by 
black,  unclothed,  wicked-looking  savages,  who  watched 
his  every  move,  striving  for  the  most  advantageous  po 
sitions.  Each  wanted  to  be  the  first  to  catch  the  beef 
and  be  off  with  it,  to  receive  the  reward  its  delivery 
would  bring.  From  the  shadows,  Huntingdon  looked 
on,  intensely  interested.  Sadler  was  with  him,  but 
Moore  preferred  the  front  veranda  and  pernaud. 


162  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Deftly  and  expertly  Smithson  cut  up  the  bull. 

The  brains  and  a  part  of  the  fillet  were  hurled  at 
Makaya,  who  was  commanded  to  at  once  prepare  a  good 
supper. 

Then  followed  pretty  play  and  action. 

As  the  pieces  of  beef  were  thrown  over  Smithson's 
head,  they  were  eagerly  caught,  and  nimble  feet  were 
off  to  obey  Smithson's  commands,  which  rang  out  one 
after  another,  clear  and  peremptory. 

"  Mr.  Moore,  one  time !  " 

"  The  Douane!  " 

"  The  Commandant!  " 

"  The  Chef  de  Poste!  " 

"  Monsieur  LeBlanc !  " 

And  so  on  through  the  list  of  white  men  at  Cape 
Lopez. 

Ogula  had  shouldered  the  remainder  of  the  beef  to  be 
divided  among  the  men,  when  Nkombi  Kakhi  emerged 
from  the  gloom. 

"  Master  Huntingdon,  foura  mbani,  mbani,"  and 
again  he  held  up  four  fingers. 

"  You  damned  old  skinflint,"  roared  Sadler.  "  Four 
francs !  I  guess  not.  Shilling  be  proper  wages  for  one 
day's  hunt.  Don't  give  him  any  more,  Huntingdon. 
Only  sets  a  bad  example  and  makes  us  pay  more." 

"  It's  our  bargain,"  and  Huntingdon  handed  over  the 
money. 

"You  no  dash  us  tacco  and  rum?"  next  asked 
Nkombi  Kakhi. 

"  It's  the  custom,"  explained  Smithson,  "  after  a  suc 
cessful  hunt,  or  other  day's  hard  work,  to  set  up  the 
tacco  and  rum." 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  163 

"  All  right.  Let  Itula  give  the  proper  amount  to 
Ogula  to  be  divided  up  and  charge  it  to  me." 

"  Master  Huntingdon  be  fine  too  much,"  said  Nkombi 
Kakhi,  disappearing  in  the  night. 

Besides  Moore,  there  were  two  other  guests  for  din 
ner:  Monsieur  Bouchard,  who  was  to  assume  command 
of  the  Ville  de  Maranhao  when  she  came  up  the  coast, 
and  Monsieur  Pottier,  who  was  to  succeed  Bouchard. 

The  dark,  bushy  beards  of  the  Frenchmen  formed  a 
great  contrast  to  the  smooth  faces  of  the  Englishmen. 

There  was  no  elaborately  written  menu  like  Moore's ; 
the  table  was  laid  in  the  old  slovenly  manner;  and 
Mbega  employed  the  soiled  towel,  which  he  kept  stowed 
between  his  bare  legs  when  it  was  not  needed.  But 
Makaya  sent  in  a  delicious  meal  of 

Cream  of  tomato  soup. 
Grilled  fresh  mullet  with  butter  sauce. 

Bushcow's  brains  with  brown  sauce. 

Fillet  of  Bushcow  with  French  fried  potatoes. 

French  pickles.  Roast  Chicken. 

Lettuce  salad  with  French  dressing. 

Bread.  Butter.  Gruyere  cheese. 

Red  and  white  wine.    Champagne. 

Cafe"  noir.     Tea. 

Monsieur  Bouchard  declared  that  the  abduction  of 
the  Loango  by  Sadler  was  the  richest  tale  Cape  Lopez 
had  enjoyed  in  many  a  moon.  He  mimicked  the  great 
rage  of  the  Commandant;  he  spoke  of  the  unheard-of 
generosity  of  the  Douane  in  giving  edibles  to  Hunting 
don  ;  and  of  Huntingdon's  fame  which  was  spreading 
farther  throughout  the  bush,  then  he  asked  Huntingdon 
to  tell  him  of  the  day's  hunt. 

Huntingdon  was  all  enthusiasm.     Graphically  he  set 


164  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

forth  the  events  of  the  day.  He  had  never  seen  any 
thing  like  the  manner  in  which  Nkombi  Kakhi  hurled  his 
spear  and  the  ease  with  which  the  bull  was  carried  home. 
Of  his  own  sufferings  he  said  nothing.  However, 
Moore  did,  but  Monsieur  Bouchard  cut  in  with: 

"  If  Monsieur  Huntingdon  will  hunt  with  the  same  en 
thusiasm  this  time  next  year  as  he  did  to-day,  I  shall 
be  enchanted  to  set  up  the  most  recherche  feast  of  which 
the  Ville  de  Maranhao  is  capable." 

"  And  if  Monsieur  Huntingdon  should  not  hunt  with 
the  same  pleasure  one  year  hence,  it  will  be  his  delight 
to  set  before  Monsieur  Bouchard  and  his  friends  the 
most  elaborate  feast  possible  in  Cape  Lopez,"  answered 
Huntingdon. 

Which  wager  was  duly  pledged  in  champagne. 

Pettier  was  small  and  wiry,  with  a  muddy,  pimply 
complexion.  He  had  sloping  shoulders  and  wore  his 
trousers  principally  about  his  ankles.  He  had  a  lean 
and  hungry  look  and  appeared  as  though  he  couldn't  get 
enough  to  eat.  He  was  more  interested  in  the  viands 
than  he  was  in  the  conversation,  until  the  coffee  was 
served,  then  both  he  and  Bouchard  were  revelations. 

Upon  their  celebrated  actors  and  writers  and  painters 
they  enthused,  showing  great  knowledge  of  their  lives 
and  their  works. 

Moore  was  the  only  one  out  of  it,  for  little  Sadler 
showed  a  vast  knowledge  gained  in  poring  over  six 
penny  editions. 

Literature  from  ^Eschylus  to  Mark  Twain  was  dis 
cussed;  painting,  from  Leonardo  da  Vinci  to  Sargeant; 
sculpture,  from  Phidias  to  Rodin ;  music,  from  the  an 
cient  Greek  choruses  to  rag  time  and  cake  walks. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  165 

'Twas  midnight  when  the  enjoyable  evening  ended. 

After  the  departure  of  the  Frenchmen,  Sadler  bel 
lowed  over  Mbega,  who  had  fallen  asleep  on  the  veranda : 

"  On,  MacDuff,  you  fish-scented  son  of  Ham ;  on  with 
your  snoring,  and  be  thrice  damned  if  you  wake  up 
before  cock's  speak." 


CHAPTER  X 

EARLY  the  next  morning  the  white  men  were  awak 
ened  by  the  excited  cry  of  Ngumbe: 

"  Master,  Master,  logs  no  live !     Tide  he  take  um !  " 

The  dire  news  brought  Smithson,  Sadler  and  Hunt 
ingdon  with  a  bound  to  the  veranda.  Not  a  log  was 
left  on  the  beach  and  there  was  evidence  that  the  tide 
had  been  heavy  and  strong,  and  that  Ndatuma,  the 
watch,  had  slept  at  his  post.  The  rum  of  the  feast  the 
night  before  had  been  too  much  for  him,  and,  aware  of 
the  great  loss  of  the  logs  and  the  punishment  he  merited 
and  would  surely  get,  he  was  hidden  in  the  bush,  and  he 
had  sense  enough  never  again  to  apply  to  John  Holt's 
for  work. 

Smithson's  whistle  shrieked  shrilly,  creisiboys  came 
running,  and  Sadler  commanded : 

"  The  gigs  one  time !  All  hands  f or'ard ;  we've  got  to 
chase  up  them  logs  and  save  as  many  as  possible." 

High  and  dry  on  the  beach  were  three  surf  boats, 
but  there  were  hands  enough  only  for  two.  The  other 
traders  were  appealed  to,  but  LeBlanc,  the  Frenchman, 
was  the  only  man  who  sent  men,  and  he  loaned  five  stal 
wart  Ouroungoes. 

"  Put  on  all  your  rags,  Huntingdon,"  little  Sadler 
advised.  "  It's  an  all-day  souse  in  the  briny  - 

"  Yes,  and  take  a  peg,  Huntingdon,  a  stiff  one," 
broke  in  Smithson,  who  was  extremely  nervous  and  was 

166 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  167 

helping  himself  to  brandy  and  quinine,  "  and  some 
quinine,  too ;  it's  fever  for  all  of  us,  but  if  I  ever  lay 
hands  on  that  hound,  Ndatuma,  I'll  murder  him  in  cold 
blood.  Coffee's  all  we  have  time  for  now,  Ngumbe ;  but 
get  chop  ready  one  time,  plenty,  plenty ;  go  to  the 
Commandant,  the  Douane  and  Chief  Ragundo  and  tell 
them  Master  Smithson  must  have  crewboys;  double 
wages  for  everybody  and  big  dashes  of  tacco  and  rum. 
Master  must  have  boys!  " 

"  I  savvy,  Master." 

"  Makaya,  Makaya,"  shouted  Smithson,  and  in  his 
nervousness  he  reiterated  his  commands ;  "  no  time  to 
wait  now  for  breakfast;  see  that  plenty  chop's  given  to 
Ngumbe  and  Mbega,  and  get  it  ready  one  time  so's  you 
can  send  it  as  soon  as  enough  boys  are  found  to  man 
the  third  canoe,  then  send  it  down  coast  as  fast  as  oars 
can  pull  them,  savvy?  " 

"  Me,  I  comprends,"  quietly  answered  the  Loango, 
turning  again  to  the  galley,  where  he  was  heard  to  com 
mand  the  Jack -wash  to  get  "  poulets  and  viands  ready 
toute  de  suite." 

It  was  shortly  after  six  o'clock  when  the  two  canoes 
shoved  off,  and  again  Smithson  called  forth  his  com 
mands  to  the  servants  left  behind.  Again  and  again 
they  were  cautioned  to  have  plenty  of  chop  and  drink 
and  to  get  the  canoe  manned  and  sent  off  one  time. 

The  early  morning  breeze  was  refreshing,  the  sea  was 
choppy,  and  the  tide  was  favorable.  Almost  simul 
taneously  the  crews  set  up  a  plaintive  boat  song  and 
pulled  steadily  for  several  hours.  The  white  men  re 
laxed  and  rested,  but,  gradually,  the  breeze  died;  the 
might  of  the  sun  grew  momentarily  greater ;  and  the  sea 


168  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

became  smooth  and  gleamed  like  polished  jet.  The  re 
flection  from  it  was  so  great  that  Huntingdon's  eyes 
seemed  to  bore  through  his  head  and  his  feet  were  tor 
tured  almost  beyond  endurance.  Raw  and  sore  though 
they  were  from  yesterday's  hunt,  he  had  forced  them 
into  tan,  waterproof  boots,  which  he  then  knew  were  not 
the  proper  sort,  and  he  envied  Smithson  and  Sadler  their 
mosquito  boots  and  their  indifference  to  the  present. 
They  both  slept  outstretched  in  the  bottom  of  the  canoe, 
their  helmets  well  down  over  their  eyes  and  their  heads 
in  the  slight  shade  afforded  by  the  thwarts.  Hunting 
don  was  seated  in  the  stern  with  Ora,  who  held  the  tiller. 
He  wore  no  spine  pad  and  it  was  as  though  a  steady 
stream  of  intense  heat  were  playing  on  his  back. 

The  song  of  the  men  ceased ;  their  stroke  was  mechan 
ical  and  not  so  strong,  yet  the  tide  continued  with  them 
and  fairly  good  speed  was  made. 

Suddenly  Ora  cried : 

"  Timber  live !  " 

Beyond  the  vision  of  the  white  men  were  the  first 
beached  logs. 

Immediately,  Smithson  and  Sadler  sat  up,  alert,  and, 
hammering  on  the  gunwale  with  his  cashing-go,  Sadler 
commanded : 

"  Negesa,  negesa!  "  1 

The  crewboys  responded  and  the  canoes  shot  for 
ward. 

Abreast    of    the    logs,    both    white    and    black    men 

plunged  into  the  water.     The  tide  was  out  and  there 

was  no  surf.      The  white  men  discarded  their  coats,  and, 

clad  only  in  singlets  and  trousers  with  helmets  pushed 

i  Make  haste,  make  haste. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  169 

well  down  over  their  eyes,  each  of  them  personally  su 
perintended  the  salvage  of  a  log.  The  work  was  heavy, 
the  heat  continued  to  stoke  up  and  there  wasn't  a  breath 
of  air. 

The  salt  water  and  his  heavy  boots  caused  such  acute 
agony  to  Huntingdon's  raw  heels,  that  he  had  a  crewboy 
pull  off  his  boots,  and  for  the  rest  of  the  day,  Hunt 
ingdon,  the  erstwhile  dandy  of  Mayfair  and  Belgravia, 
went  about  unshod  like  a  savage. 

"  I  say,  Smithson,"  he  finally  cried,  "  why  can't  Ora, 
the  headman,  superintend  the  job  and  save  us  this  ex 
posure  ?  " 

"  Because  headmen  haven't  any  more  brains  than 
other  natives  and  the  latter  have  none  at  all.  If  you 
want  anything  accomplished  in  this  bally  country,  you've 
got  to  oversee  it  yourself.  You  don't  think  I'm  doing 
this  for  the  fun  of  it,  do  you?  Left  to  themselves, 
these  beggars  would  have  returned  with  a  log  one,  one, 
swearing  by  all  the  gods  they  haven't  got  that  no  other 
timber  was  visible  within  fifty  miles.  These  beasts  are 
liars  of  the  first  calibre,  and  Legree's  the  only  sort  of  a 
white  man  who  gets  work  out  of  negroes." 

Despite  his  misery,  Huntingdon  could  not  help  smil 
ing  at  little  Sadler.  His  cheeks  were  distended  by  great 
wads  of  chewing  tobacco  and  he  cried  continuously : 

"  On,  on,  you  hairless  Mexican  pups,  work  and  it's 
tacco  and  rum  'till  your  bellies  split  and  your  eyes 
drop  from  your  lousy  skulls !  On,  on,  you  chocolate- 
hued  MacDuffs,  and  the  first  nigger  who  shirks  I'll 
murder !  " 

Huntingdon,  too,  fell  to  cursing  and  belaboring  the 
natives. 


170  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

"  That's  right ;  go  it,  tenderfoot,"  cried  little  Sadler, 
delighted.  "  A  nigger  hates  a  white  man's  oath  worse 
than  he  does  his  fists,  so  give  'em  hell  and  more  hell." 

Thus,  'twixt  belaboring  and  cursing  and  the  promis 
ing  of  rewards,  the  crewboys  were  urged  to  greater 
efforts. 

The  white  men  pulled  continuously  at  brandy,  and, 
every  now  and  then,  Smithson  sought  the  canoe  where 
he  kept  his  quinine  bottle  and  took  large  doses  of  the 
drug.  Huntingdon,  too,  took  a  big  dose,  but  Sadler 
continued  in  his  refusal  to  take  any. 

High  noon  and  resting  time  came,  but  no  chop  and 
Ngumbe  appeared.  From  sun  and  exposure  the  white 
men  were  dizzy  and  faint.  Smithson's  eyes  were  sunken 
in  his  head,  they  glowed  unnaturally,  his  cheeks  were 
flushed  with  fever,  but  not  one  drop  of  sweat  appeared. 
On  the  other  hand,  Sadler  and  Huntingdon  perspired 
profusely. 

Like  the  white  men  the  negroes  had  taken  no  break 
fast  and  the  machinery  of  their  bodies  was  rapidly  run 
ning  down.  Their  food  also  depended  upon  Ngumbe. 
Every  man  longed  for  a  drink  of  water  too,  but  explora 
tion  had  failed  to  find  water  and  nobody  had  thought  to 
bring  any  along.  Thirsty,  hungry  and  pretty  well 
spent,  work  was  an  effort.  Still  the  white  men  persisted 
and  urged  the  negroes  on.  Smithson  knew  that  rest  and 
shade  ought  to  be  sought,  but  he  likewise  was  aware  of 
the  value  of  the  present  moments.  The  remaining  logs 
were  higher  up  on  the  beach  and  the  sand  in  which  they 
were  embedded  had  dried,  making  their  removal  a 
stupendous  task.  Besides,  the  tide  had  turned  and 
although  it  would  eventually  float  the  beached  logs,  night 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  171 

would  have  then  fallen  and  danger  from  man-eating 
sharks  was  too  great  to  permit  of  further  work. 

At  last  there  came  a  shout  over  the  water  and  Ngumbe 
arrived  with  Mbega,  chop  and  fourteen  extra  crewboys. 
It  was  two  o'clock. 

Rice  for  the  men  was  immediately  portioned  out; 
they  separated  into  jams,1  a  cook  to  each  jam.  The 
cooks  sought  wood,  made  fires  and  boiled  the  rice,  while 
the  other  crewboys  rested  in  the  shade. 

In  the  fetish  house  of  a  small,  abandoned  village  just 
off  the  beach  were  huddled  the  white  men.  The  house 
was  merely  a  roof  of  dried  grass  on  slanting  uprights 
which  threatened  to  fall  any  second,  but  it  afforded  the 
greatest  thing  the  white  man  needed,  and  that  was  shade. 

Dirty  and  wet  and  clad  only  in  loin  cloths,  Mbega 
and  Ngumbe  placed  the  food  on  a  water-soaked  pack 
ing  case.  In  silence  and  ravenously  the  white  men 
pulled  at  tough  chicken,  ate  cold  potatoes  thick  with 
palm-oil,  and  swallowed  great  quantities  of  hot  coffee 
and  Bordeaux  wine.  No  thought  was  given  to  knives 
or  forks,  nor  to  table  etiquette.  Hunger  tortured;  all 
else  was  forgotten. 

Smithson  was  the  only  one  who  spoke  and  what  he 
said  was  pitiful  and  expressed  volumes : 

"  I  feel  like  a  convict,  homeless,  friendless,  and  sen 
tenced  to  penal  servitude  for  life." 

One  by  one  the  white  men  were  satiated;  one  by  one 
they  rolled  over  on  the  ground  and  slept. 

Black  men,  too,  slept,  and  the  lapping  of  the  waters 
on  the  rafted  logs  was  the  only  sound  that  broke  the 
silence  of  the  equatorial  tropics. 

i  Squad,  gang. 


172  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Ordinarily,  two  hours'  rest  are  daily  taken  after  the 
midday  meal,  but  time  was  precious,  and  in  one  short 
hour,  Ora's  whistle  sent  both  white  and  black  men  again 
into  the  water. 

The  tide  was  rapidly  coming  in,  but  it  was  not  yet 
strong  enough  to  float  the  embedded  logs.  Crowbars 
and  cables  were  necessary  to  dislodge  them.  All  hands 
were  pulling  on  the  cable  wound  about  an  enormous  log, 
when  the  rope  broke  and  the  negroes  were  sent  sprawling 
in  all  directions.  They  rolled  on  the  sand,  laughing 
boisterously,  but  severe  lashes  from  the  cashmg-gos  of 
the  white  men  caused  them  to  scramble  to  their  feet  and 
stand  in  line  for  further  effort. 

Sadler  took  the  crowbar  from  Ora ;  he  put  half  the 
force  to  shoving  the  log  and  the  other  half  to  pulling 
on  a  new  cable. 

There  was  silence  as  the  negroes  pushed,  pulled  and 
strained.  The  hollows  in  their  powerful,  nude  backs 
grew  deeper  as  muscles  and  ribs  arose  in  great  welts  on 
either  side  thereof.  Sweat  ran  from  their  bodies  as 
though  pails  of  water  had  been  thrown  over  them. 

"  Move  it,  boys,"  cried  Huntingdon,  in  appreciation 
of  their  efforts  and  in  admiration  of  their  wondrous 
strength,  "  and  it's  rum  and  tacco  a  whole  week  for 
each." 

Every  native  heard  and  registered  the  promise,  but 
not  one  of  them  glanced  towards  the  white  man,  so  great 
was  the  strain  of  pushing  and  pulling.  But  the  log 
never  budged. 

"  Stop  a  moment !  "  commanded  Smithson,  seeking  a 
crowbar  and  giving  another  to  Huntingdon,  "  Rest  and 
breathe  deep  for  a  few  moments  —  now  —  come  on, 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  173 

Sadler  and  Huntingdon,  crowbars  under  with  mine! 
Boys,  steady  on  the  cable  —  pull !  " 

Silence  !  Men  pushed  and  pulled  with  all  their  might ! 
Slowly  and  reluctantly  the  log  responded  to  the  concen 
trated  effort  and  slightly  quivered.  A  new  hold  on 
the  crowbars,  harder  pushing,  more  strenuous  pulling, 
the  log  moved,  she  was  out  of  her  bed  and  off  down  the 
sand !  Part  of  the  force  was  left  to  roll  her  into  the 
water  and  raft  her,  and  the  rest  were  already  at  work 
on  another  log. 

Thus  the  strenuous  labor  went  on. 

The  tide  was  high  and  strong ;  the  rafted  logs  bumped 
each  other  lively ;  the  sun  was  losing  his  heat,  the  water 
was  up  to  the  armpits  of  the  white  men  and  they 
were  chilled  through  and  through  and  were  thoroughly 
exhausted. 

They  cried  for  wine.  There  wasn't  any !  Coffee, 
then.  There  wasn't  any  of  it,  either !  Chop,  then. 
Not  a  morsel  of  food  was  left !  The  ravenously  hungry 
white  men  had  eaten  it  all  at  one  sitting. 

The  oaths  poured  on  the  head  of  Ngumbe  were  enough 
to  grill  the  wretch,  and  there  would  have  been  a  dead 
negro  had  Smithson  or  Sadler  got  within  arm's  length 
of  him.  But  he  fled  to  the  water,  only  to  come  back 
howling  with  fear;  a  blue  shark  dashed  by,  and  between 
the  devil  and  the  shark,  the  negro  chose  the  devil.  But 
he  had  nothing  to  fear  now  from  the  white  men ;  the 
shark  not  only  took  their  attention,  but  it  was  six 
o'clock,  sundown  and  flood  tide ! 

Work  had  to  be  abandoned. 

Out  of  two  hundred  logs  escaped,  only  sixty-six  were 
rescued ! 


174  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

The  homeward  pull  was  slow  and  torturesome.  The 
canoes,  towing  the  logs,  had  tide  and  wind  against  them. 
They  showed  no  lights,  for  Ngumbe  never  once  thought 
to  bring  lanterns.  But  the  white  men  were  too  far 
spent  for  further  vituperation.  They  were  drenched 
with  spray,  cold  from  the  night's  breeze  and  thoroughly 
miserable.  They  crouched  in  the  bottom  of  the  canoe. 
They  were  too  far  gone  even  to  rest  or  sleep.  For  the 
first  time  in  many  moons  the  crewboys  worked  without  a 
curse,  threat  or  blow  from  their  white  masters. 

'Twas  midnight  when  the  canoes  put  into  Holt's 
beach.  The  white  men  dragged  themselves  to  the 
bungalow ;  they  spoke  no  word ;  they  stopped  not  for 
food  and  drink ;  in  their  damp  clothing,  they  dropped 
like  logs  into  their  beds ! 

It  had  indeed  been  a  day  of  African  pleasantry. 

The  next  morning  three  silent,  pale  white  men  met 
at  breakfast;  eating  was  a  pretense;  dull  lassitude  and 
fever  reigned ! 

Inert,  but  with  eyes  wide  open  and  brilliant,  Smith- 
son  lay  on  a  steamer  chair  on  the  veranda  gazing  out 
over  the  bay ;  Sadler  sought  the  little  Oka  and  slept  on 
her  deck;  Huntingdon  dressed  his  sore  heels  and  longed 
for  ice  for  his  throbbing  head  and  aching  throat !  For 
the  first  time  he  recognized  what  luxuries  in  Africa  are 
the  most  commonplace  things  of  civilization !  There 
was  naught  to  do  but  to  endure,  and,  like  a  true  soldier, 
he  endured  in  silence ! 


CHAPTER  XI 

SUNUP  Saturday  the  Ville  de  Maranhao  loomed  large 
on  the  southern  horizon  line. 

Her  passengers  looked  like  corpses  returning  to  Eu 
rope  for  burial !  They  were  outstretched  on  deck  chairs, 
too  miserable  to  do  aught  but  glance  at  the  few  visitors 
from  Cape  Lopez ! 

The  ship's  surgeon,  the  stewardess  and  several  of  the 
crew  were  down  with  dysentery ! 

Matadi,  Leopoldville  and  Brazzaville  were  reported 
infernally  hot,  dry  and  dirty !  Rain  had  not  fallen  for 
over  a  year! 

Smallpox  and  sleeping  sickness  were  epidemic. 
Thousands  of  natives  were  dying.  White  men  too  were 
passing  away.  One  blew  out  his  brains  in  the  delirium 
of  black  water  fever.  Another  because  he  could  not 
stand  the  agony  of  the  removal  of  a  guinea  worm. 

Not  one  pleasant  rumor  was  reported ! 

The  white  men  of  Cape  Lopez  shrugged  their 
shoulders  —  and  helped  Bouchard  celebrate  his  promo 
tion  to  the  captaincy  of  the  Ville  de  Maranhao  and  to 
take  leave  of  Cape  Lopez. 

Huntingdon  saw  a  proper  burst.  It  commenced  Sat 
urday  night  with  dinner  and  ended  Sunday  midnight 
with  the  sailing  away  of  the  French  steamer. 

While  white  men  made  merry  within,  natives  went  at 
a  savage  pace  on  the  plains. 

175 


176  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Bouchard  was  generous  with  rum  and  tobacco.  The 
natives  yelled  and  shouted  as  loud  as  they  could;  they 
pounded  on  all  sorts  of  tin  and  enamel  cooking  uten 
sils,  and,  amidst  general  pandemonium  and  drunkenness, 
the  disgusting  contortions  called  dancing  began. 

The  scene  was  brilliant  with  blazing  fires. 

Two  lines  of  dancers  were  formed,  the  men  on  one 
side,  the  women  on  the  other. 

At  either  end  were  drummers,  beating  furiously  with 
bare  palms  upon  enormous  tam-tams. 

Singing,  yelling,  crying,  and  generally  letting  off 
steam,  up  and  down  between  the  lines,  men  and  women 
danced,  never  together  and  one  after  the  other. 

About  the  loins  of  the  women  were  bands  of  cloth 
pulled  so  tight  that  the  abdomen  was  sharply  defined 
and  its  contortions  emphasized. 

The  dance  was  anything  but  graceful :  feet  never 
left  the  ground,  but  were  scraped  back  and  forth,  and 
the  abdomen  was  exercised  violently. 

Men,  women  and  children  had  exactty  the  same  swing, 
the  same  rhythm,  the  same  shuffling  of  feet,  the  same 
wriggling  of  the  body. 

Wilder  and  wilder  beat  the  drummers !  They  were 
now  astride  the  tam-tams.  Faster  and  faster  gyrated 
the  natives !  Losing  control  of  themselves,  they  reeled, 
and  fell  exhausted.  One  by  one  they  arose  and  went 
at  it  more  recklessly ! 

When  pleasures  paled  within,  white  men  joined  the 
orgy  without.  Greater  was  the  uproar.  More  sug 
gestive  the  dancing,  encouraged  by  the  plaudits  and 
suggestions  of  the  white  men. 

The  abandon  was  savage,  wild ! 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  177 

Rum  and  mimbo  l  seemed  endless.  It  was  gulped  down 
continuously.  Huge  goblets  of  it  were  drained  at  a 
draught.  Throats  seemed  aluminum,  so  little  effect 
had  the  fiery  liquids  upon  them.  At  length  outraged 
nature  rebelled  and  daylight  found  white  and  black  ex 
hausted.  Close  together  they  lay  in  drunken  stupor. 

With  splitting  heads,  and  nerves  all  wrong,  the  white 
men  awoke  one  by  one,  and,  kicking  women  out  of  their 
way,  they  sought  the  shade  of  their  respective  bunga 
lows,  where  they  lay  about  unshorn,  scantily  clothed 
and  thoroughly  wretched.  They  called  for  drink,  and 
more  drink. 

Stupefied,  they  slept  till  nightfall. 

Again  they  gathered  at  Bouchard's,  but  little  pre 
tense  was  made  of  taking  food,  and  champagne  was 
drunk  exclusively.  Every  man  insisted  upon  opening 
wine  to  bid  the  good  Bouchard  bon  voyage. 

Bouchard  was  doing  his  best  to  sober  up  to  take 
command  of  his  ship.  At  first,  he  objected  to  his  guests 
ordering  wine  from  their  own  factories,  but  men's  tem 
pers  were  such  that  to  give  in  to  their  wishes  was  the 
only  way  to  avoid  a  general  riot. 

On  the  plains  the  natives  were  again  going  their 
savage  pace.  The  din  and  racket  were  again  enough 
to  split  the  aching  heads  of  white  men,  but  the  latter 
were  too  far  in  liquor  to  comprehend  anything  save  to 
keep  going.  Moore  sang  a  suggestive  song  which  was 
boisterously  applauded  and  followed  by  others. 

It  was  midnight.     Bouchard's  departure  was  at  hand. 

Bon   voyage,    bonne   sante,    and   bonne   chance   were 
spoken  and  drunk  to  repeatedly,  then,  with  linked  arms 
i  Native  whisky. 


178  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

and  singing  La  Machitte,  the  march  to  the  water  began. 
But  the  heavy  sandy  beach  was  zigzaggy,  uncertain ;  the 
water  seemed  far,  very  far  away  and  the  route  to  it  a 
high  mountain  with  no  top ;  all  effort  was  needed  for 
walking  and  the  song  ceased.  Then  Bouchard  boasted 
of  what  he  was  going  to  do  as  commander  of  the  VUle 
de  Mara/rihao. 

The  deposed  captain  took  offense  and  demanded  to 
know  why  he  should  be  so  insulted  by  one  he  considered 
his  plus  cher  ami. 

A  duel  hovered  in  the  air,  when  the  Douane  broke 
forth: 

"  We  are  sauvage,  sauvage,  worse  than  the  blacks  to 
end  up  a  delightful  revelry  like  snarling  beasts !  " 

Men  fell  on  each  other's  necks.  Nobody  remembered 
to  have  done  any  snarling,  everybody  was  the  best  of 
friends  and  it  was  an  irreparable  loss  because  the  good 
Bouchard,  a  camarade  and  friend  and  jolly  good- fellow, 
must  take  command  of  a  ship  and  set  out  for  civiliza 
tion  !  How  triste,  how  miserable  everybody  would  be 
without  him ! 

Everybody  sniffed,  then  everybody  cried.  It  were 
as  though  mourners  were  taking  leave  of  a  corpse. 

Finally  the  surf  boat  was  reached  and  men  tumbled 
into  it.  Some  tumbled  into  the  water  too,  and  were 
fished  out  by  the  ship's  crew,  who  were  sober,  despite 
the  fact  that  they  had  sat  in  attendance  upon  their  new 
commander  from  eight  until  midnight ! 

The  boat  had  put  out,  when  a  great  shout  came  over 
the  sand. 

Wildman,  the  Swiss,  had  been  left  behind.  Up  and 
down  the  beach  he  ran,  shouting  for  the  boat  to  return. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  179 

Then,  as  she  continued  her  way,  he  offered  his  whole 
fortune,  the  trade  goods  in  his  shop,  everything  he  pos 
sessed  for  a  pirogue  1  to  take  him  off  to  the  French 
steamer. 

But  not  a  native  canoe  was  visible,  nor  was  a  sober 
paddler  to  be  found. 


Poor  little  Pettier!  The  burst  was  his  cachet.  He 
never  woke  up.  They  found  him  under  the  fierce  morn 
ing  sun  —  dead ! 

At  sundown,  without  prayer  or  psalm,  they  shoveled 
him  into  the  sand  in  the  little  graveyard  on  the  beach. 
His  coffin  was  an  empty  gun  case.  O'erhead  great, 
gaunt  cocatiers  sighed  mournfully  and  upon  the  sands 
the  waters  of  the  Bay  of  Mandji  sobbed  an  eternal  re 
quiem  over  the  tenderfoot  who  was  blasted  e'er  he  had  a 
chance  to  look  about.  Hell's  Playground  claimed  him 
early ! 

White  men  were  saddened,  but  not  for  long.  Men 
do  not  dwell  much  in  their  thoughts  —  out  there.  More 
absinthe  and  brandy  were  stowed  within  —  to  keep 
thoughts  down. 

Moore  came  up  to  Holt's  in  an  ugly  mood. 

He  accused  Huntingdon  of  being  too  stuck  up  to  take 
part  in  their  good  times.  He  swore  that  he  saw  Hunt 
ingdon  sneak  off  when  a  black  woman  tried  to  catch  him 
about  the  neck.  Huntingdon  had  insulted  Bouchard, 
the  Douane,  the  Commandant,  the  whole  French  govern 
ment. 

"  If  you're  too  damn  fine  to  do  as  the  rest  of  us  white 

1  Canoe. 


180  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

gentlemen  do,  why  we'll  let  you  alone,"  he  raged.  "  We 
ain't  hankering  after  society  that  ain't  hankering  after 
us.  You'll  be  glad  to  have  us  take  you  back,  after 
you've  tasted  a  bit  of  Africa's  cursed  monotony." 

"  Speak  for  yourself,"  defended  Sadler,  the  rage 
of  a  bull  in  his  voice  and  resentment  in  his  attitude. 
"  Since  when  have  you  become  such  good  friends  with 
the  Pomme-de-terre-frits.  You're  always  blubbering 
about  your  hatred  of  them,  and,  if  you  had  your  way, 
you'd  blow  every  one  of  'em  to  hell.  Suppose  you  go 
and  do  it." 

"  When  I  come  back  again,  you'll  know  it  —  you  and 
your of  a  Great  White  King  t " 


CHAPTER  XII 

SMITHSON'S  departure  for  N'djole  was  fixed  for  the 
following  Saturday  night.  He  was  to  leave  on  the  Av- 
ant-Garde. 

A  whole  week  was  given  to  conscientious  work. 

Sadler  and  Smithson  explained  things  to  Hunting 
don  with  patience  and  exactness. 

Itula  was  to  remain.  He  was  an  excellent  shopboy, 
but  a  thief.  Huntingdon  was  to  keep  an  eye  on  him, 
but  in  secret.  Open  suspicion  would  cause  him  to  make 
a  great  haul;  he  would  run  off  and  Huntingdon's  loss 
would  be  great. 

Mbega  declared  to  Srnithson  that  Huntingdon  was  a 
proper  master.  That  meant  the  bushboy  would  stand 
by  Huntingdon  as  much  as  a  native  is  capable  of  fidelity 
towards  a  white  man.  Smithson  encouraged  Mbega  and 
advised  him  that  Huntingdon  would  reward  him  greatly 
for  faithful  service.  To  Huntingdon  Smithson  said: 

"  Mbega's  crude,  but  you'd  better  keep  him.  A  black 
friend  counts  out  here,  when  white  men  forget  the  mean 
ing  of  the  word.  Nkombi  Kakhi,  and  Ogula,  the  shoot- 
man,  will  stand  by  you  also.  You've  got  them  for  keeps. 
You've  lost  no  time  getting  vassals.  Hang  on  to  them. 
And  further  safeguard  yourself  by  taking  a  wife. 
There's  something  in  the  air,  in  the  sun's  heat,  in  the 
general  precipitation  of  nature  that  engenders  unholy 
desires  in  the  holiest  of  men.  Don't  try  to  fight  them 

181 


182  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

— •  you'll  only  lose  out.  Again,  the  natives  can't  imagine 
any  man's  living  to  himself.  They'll  think  you're  queer 
—  bewitched,  and  they  won't  come  near  you.  Then 
your  cake'll  be  dough  and  you  might  as  well  go  back 
to  civilization  for  your  plans'll  come  to  naught  here." 

"  Is  it  as  bad  as  that,  old  man  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  it  is.  Take  a  daughter  of  Chief  Ragundo. 
It'll  secure  you  his  friendship  and  influence.  He  wields 
great  power  among  various  tribes  and  he's  the  most 
powerful  chief  in  this  section  of  the  country ;  also,  he's 
on  good  terms  with  the  French.  He  settles  many  dis 
putes  too  knotty  for  civilized  jurisprudence." 

Huntingdon  was  further  advised  to  keep  up  the  pre 
tense  of  being  a  Great  White  King.  It  was  his  biggest 
asset.  He  could  continue  to  dispense  the  largess  of  a 
king  with  gifts  insignificant  to  him,  but  superb  to  sav 
age  simplicity. 

He  was  told  some  of  the  tales  about  him  spread 
throughout  the  bush  by  Nkombi  Kakhi,  and  Ogula,  the 
shootman. 

He  had  killed  a  vulture  a  mile  in  the  air! 

He  stopped  a  wounded,  on-rushing,  mad  bull  simply 
by  the  power  of  his  blue  eyes ;  the  bull  fell  prostrate 
and,  although  he  kicked  the  white  man  again  and  again, 
he  could  neither  bruise  nor  harm  him  1 

He  had  shot  a  python  in  the  neck  and  caused  the  bul 
let  to  curve  in  such  a  manner  as  not  to  wound  a  tiny 
gazelle  the  serpent  was  in  the  act  of  swallowing!  The 
gazelle  was  restored  whole  and  followed  the  white  man 
home ! 

Huntingdon  laughed  heartily  at  the  garbled  versions 
of  facts. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  183 

"  Don't  laugh,  old  man,  at  the  superstitions  of  the 
savages  nor  at  their  tales,"  advised  Smithson.  "  Re 
spect  native  customs,  and  you'll  not  be  sorry.  The 
savages  are  fond  of  display  and  long  on  caste.  Call  a 
free  native  a  nigger  and  it's  worth  your  life.  That 
term  of  opprobrium  is  applied  only  to  slaves." 

"  I  thought  the  French  had  freed  all  the  slaves." 

"  By  no  means ;  slavery's  still  the  open  sore  of  Africa 
and  it  won't  be  healed  in  our  time  nor  in  the  time  of  our 
great  grandchildren,  if  ever.  The  natives  still  buy  and 
sell  slaves  among  themselves,  and  all  captives  in  tribal 
wars  are  made  slaves ;  however,  if  any  slave  goes  to  a 
white  man  and  demands  his  freedom,  he's  free  in  the 
French  legal  sense,  but  the  natives  still  consider  him  a 
slave,  and  in  his  own  soul  the  man  still  feels  himself  a 
slave." 

"  It's  difficult  then  to  introduce  new  forms,  customs 
and  laws  among  the  natives  ?  " 

"  Very,  and  that's  why  civilization  has  made  such  little 
headway  here.  Traders  were  admitted  where  mission 
aries  and  government  men  were  either  driven  out  or 
eaten,  hence  Moore  was  right  the  other  day  when  he  told 
you  that  trade  has  done  more  to  civilize  this  country 
than  France  has  ever  done,  and  that  trade  was  British 
trade.  As  to  native  customs,  the  natives  believe  implic 
itly  in  their  sorcerers  or  witch  doctors  and  no  amount 
of  civilization  or  religion  can  change  them." 

"  Is  there  any  native  religion  at  all?  " 

"  Yes,  that  of  superstitious  fear.  The  natives  have 
no  God  as  we  have,  nor  do  they  live  rightly  because  of 
any  punishment  that  might  come  to  them  from  His 
anger,  but  they  do  pay  dashes,  as  they  call  their 


184  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

offerings  of  palm-nuts  and  other  food,  to  a  bad  spirit 
so  that  he  will  not  bewitch  them.  In  other  words,  they 
take  no  note  of  good,  but  they  do  bribe  something  which 
they  know  to  be  evil  to  keep  away  from  them  and  not 
harm  them.  Ju-ju's  a  religion  difficult  to  explain  and 
to  understand;  you've  got  to  live  with  these  people  and 
imbibe  things  gradually.  You  can  be  on  the  safe  side 
by  never  deriding  their  beliefs  no  matter  how  ridiculous 
they  may  seem  to  you ;  respect  kings  and  chiefs ;  do  not 
laugh  at  their  tatterdemalion  display ;  keep  on  as  you 
have  begun,  for  you've  unconsciously  begun  right. 
The  natives,  children  as  they  are  in  many  ways,  must 
have  some  superior  being  to  kotow  to,  and  they've  taken 
to  you  naturally.  Your  battle  with  them  is  won ;  you'll 
get  all  the  trade  you  can  handle  and,  if  you'll  take  my 
advice,  you'll  stick  strictly  to  business  for  the  three  years 
you  have  allowed  yourself,  then  you'll  go  back  home, 
marry  your  sweetheart  and  for  God's  sake  stay  there." 

"  Thanks,  old  man,"  Huntingdon  began,  but  Smith- 
son  cut  in: 

"  Now  I'm  going  to  tell  you  how  to  make  money 
quick;  that's  all  you're  here  for,  isn't  it?  " 

"  That's  all,  old  chap,"  and  Huntingdon,  interested, 
listened  attentively. 

"  This  trade-palaver  on  between  the  French  and  the 
natives  can  be  worked  to  your  profit." 

"  Indeed?  I  thought  all  along  it  would  operate 
against  me." 

"  Au  contraire.  Listen.  Wherever  the  Berlin  Act 
has  not  designated  a  district  open  to  trade,  competitive 
trade  has  been  driven  out,  as  you  have  already  been  told." 

"  Yes." 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  185 

"  Well,  in  those  districts,  as  you  have  also  been  told  — 
and  I  want  you  to  mark  this  well  and  remember  it,  for 
it's  the  key  to  your  success  —  the  French  monopolists 
have  done  away  with  standard  goods  of  a  standard  mar 
ket  value  and  substituted  inferior  goods  at  inferior 
prices.  A  native  is  slow,  very  slow  to  accept  something 
new  in  lieu  of  something  old  to  which  he  has  become 
accustomed,  especially  if  the  substitute  is  inferior  in 
value  and  higher  in  price.  Now  it's  a  fact  that  the  thin, 
narrow  French  prints  in  no  way  compare  with  the  heavy, 
wide  prints  of  the  British  and  the  Germans  in  universal 
use  when  open  trade  existed.  Then  take  tobacco  —  the 
greatest  legal  tender  here,  for  every  native  from  a  young 
child,  male  and  female,  to  ancient  men  and  women,  smoke 
continuously, —  the  natives  were  accustomed  ever  since 
the  white  trade  first  came  among  them  to  the  broad, 
Virginia  leaf  at  a  standard  fixed  price,  the  kilo.  Show 
a  bushman,  who  has  never  seen  a  white  man,  a  head  of 
Virginia  leaf  tobacco,  and  he  immediately  recognizes  its 
trade  value,  as  you  recognize  that  of  a  bob  or  a  quid. 
Now  in  lieu  of  that  tobacco,  the  French  have  substi 
tuted  an  inferior,  unknown  brand  at  a  higher  price. 
The  natives  won't  have  it,  for  two  reasons:  primo,  be 
cause  it  doesn't  smoke  as  well ;  secundo,  its  cost  is 
greater,  while  native  products  offered  in  exchange  are 
lessened  in  value  and  very  often  condemned  and  appro 
priated  by  the  French." 

"  Bad  business." 

"  The  worst  in  the  world,  because  the  natives  refuse 
to  trade  with  the  French,  and  concessionaires  who  did 
a  profitable  business  in  open  trade  days,  are  now  bank 
rupt.  The  concessionaires  blame  the  government  for 


186  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

having  unloaded  worn-out  territory,  and  the  government 
blames  the  concessionaires  for  their  lack  of  business 
policy  in  doing  away  with  standard  goods  of  a  standard 
trade  value.  The  natives  demand  redress  from  the  gov 
ernment,  but  what  can  it  do?  It  has  let  out  concession 
aire  rights  for  an  annual  stipend ;  everything  therein, 
thereon,  or  thereunder  every  hector  named  in  the  trade- 
grant  belongs  to  the  concessionaire;  let  the  native  cut 
a  log  of  ebony,  secure  a  point  of  ivory,  or  kill  a  fish- 
eagle,  it  belongs  to  the  concessionaire,  granted  to  it  by 
the  government  without  the  consent  of,  or  payment  to, 
the  native  owner." 

"  I  thought  one  of  the  first  laws  of  civilization  is  the 
right  to  enjoy  in  peace  one's  own  possessions?  " 

"  So  it  is,  but  the  natives,  who  have  been  in  possession 
of  these  lands  from  time  out  of  mind  and  who  still  con 
tinue  in  possession  of  them  can't  even  call  a  plantain 
their  own,  if  the  concessionaire  demands  it  and  confis 
cates  it.  It's  a  positive  truth  that  free  natives  are  cast 
into  prison  for  theft  for  gathering  the  products  of 
their  own  lands  !  " 

"  Extraordinary ! " 

"  Robbery,  oppression  and  slavery !  It's  natural  for 
a  nation  to  fight  for  commercial  supremacy,  but  where 
that  fight  narrows  into  a  crushing,  paralyzing  trade 
monopoly,  it  becomes  robber  economy,  fatal  in  the  end 
to  the  robber." 

"  True." 

''  Throughout  the  entire  colony  commerce  is  dead  — 
due,  it  is  said,  to  the  depreciation  in  the  price  of  rubber. 
Why,  the  French  haven't  even  the  courage  of  their  own 
sins  and  now  that  they've  reaped  the  reward  of  their 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  187 

crimes,  they  continue  to  place  the  blame  everywhere  else 
than  where  it  belongs.  Instead  of  propitiating  the  na 
tives,  flattering  them  by  giving  thcrn  the  choice  of  a  wide 
range  of  trade  goods  as  one  would  surfeit  a  child  with 
playthings,  the  French  concessionaires  first  restricted  the 
choice  of  playthings,  then  permitted  no  choice  at  all 
and  attempted  to  force  on  the  natives  something  they 
don't  want.  That's  not  business,  especially  here,  in 
this  hell  hole,  where  it  is  the  native  alone  who  counts. 
He  existed  ages  before  he  knew  there  was  such  a  crea 
ture  as  a  white  man  and  he  can  go  on  existing  without 
him,  but  without  the  cooperation  and  friendship  of 
the  native,  the  white  man  might  just  as  well  pack  up  and 
get  out." 

"  Can't  the  white  man  ever  become  acclimated  enough 
to  work  the  country?  " 

"  Never.  He  can  oversee,  yes,  but  the  labor  must 
be  done  by  the  natives.  They  alone  can  withstand  the 
fierce  sun  and  battle  with  the  diseases  endemic  and  epi 
demic  to  their  lands.  White  men  have  been  out  here, 
some  of  them  for  upwards  of  thirty  years,  but  what  are 
they?  Physical  wrecks,  from  their  affairs  with  native 
women  — " 

"  Why  don't  white  traders  bring  their  wives  out?  " 

"  Climate.  No  white  woman  save  a  missionary  ever 
permits  her  children  to  be  born  here  or  remains  for  any 
length  of  time.  Huntingdon,  you  can't  understand  how 
really  wretched  this  climate  is  until  you've  lived 
through  a  succession  of  seasons ;  then  it's  not  so  bad 
here  on  the  coast  as  it  is  in  the  interior.  In  the  dry 
season  Cape  Lopez  is  the  health  resort  of  this  part  of 
Africa." 


188  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

"  Won't  civilization  ever  come  here  as  it  has  in  East 
and  South  Africa?  " 

"  Never,  else  it  would  have  been  here  long  ago.  You 
can't  overcome  natural  deleterious  conditions ;  you  can't 
stop  eight  months'  rain,  nor  water  four  months'  drouth ; 
it's  impossible  to  purify  jungles,  to  kill  their  poisonous 
insects  and  vapors,  impossible !  " 

"  But  the  wealth's  here?  " 

"  Plenty  of  it  and  therefore  the  French  are  silly  asses 
to  stop  up  the  avenues  from  whence  it  must  flow  to 
them,  and  that's  through  the  natives.  I've  been  all 
through  the  bush,  I  know  the  feelings  of  the  natives. 
They  call  it  thief-palaver,  and  it  is  thief -palaver.  Noth 
ing  for  nothing  is  the  dictum  of  all  righteousness.  How 
dare  any  one  people  defy  all  right?  The  French  give 
worse  than  nothing  for  something;  they've  robbed  the 
native  and  they  continue  to  rob  him.  He  is  left  noth 
ing,  yet  out  of  nothing  he  must  pay  a  yearly  tax  to 
the  government.  I  told  you  all  this  the  other  day,  but  I 
repeat  it,  for  it  has  a  direct  bearing  on  your  success. 
To  get  something  from  nothing  is  an  utter  impossibility. 
Something's  got  to  give  way.  It  does.  The  natives  are 
crushed  to  the  earth  and  they  never  rise  again.  France 
in  her  greed  has  killed  the  goose  that  laid  the  golden 
egg.  Now,  France  might  find  other  geese,  but  who  can 
resuscitate  dead  geese?  " 

"  Bad  policy,  very  bad  policy !  "  ejaculated  Hunting 
don. 

"  How  would  a  civilized  man  act  were  an  unbidden 
stranger  to  enter  his  home,  take  possession  of  it,  and 
demand  the  wherewith  to  keep  him  there?  " 

"  The  owner  would  be  justified  in  ousting  the  intru- 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  189 

der  and  he  would  be  upheld  by  every  court  in  the  world." 
"  Just  so.  Yet  a  whole  army  intrudes  itself  upon  the 
French  Congo  and  compels  the  native  to  support  it 
that  it  might  continue  to  oppress  him.  Native  troops 
go  into  a  town  and  take  food  from  the  very  mouths  of 
babies.  You've  no  conception  of  the  cruel  tyranny 
one  black  man  in  the  name  of  the  law  exerts  over  another ! 
You've  got  to  see  it  to  appreciate  it.  Claim  jumping  is 
resented  in  every  part  of  the  civilized  Avorld,  and  I  don't 
see  why  an  exception  should  be  made  in  an  uncivilized 
country  especially  where  the  natives  continue  to  sit  on 
the  claim.  If  possession  is  nine-tenths  of  the  law,  shall 
only  one-tenth  prevail?  Shall  there  be  one  law  for  the 
White  and  another  for  the  Black?  Now,  you  and  I, 
Huntingdon,  belong  to  the  greatest  colonizing  country 
in  the  world ;  the  building  up  of  our  colonies  has  been  by 
no  means  free  from  stain,  yet,  I  claim,  that  equity  should 
know  no  color  nor  creed,  and  I  also  know  that  equity  is 
not  the  rock  upon  which  colonies  are  built.  It  is  grab 
and  continue  to  grab  as  long  as  there  is  anything  to  grab, 
then,  when  nothing  more  can  be  wrung  out  of  the  grab, 
it  is  thrown  aside,  and  the  ears  of  colonizers  are  deadened 
to  the  wail  of  those  passed  up  by  the  clinking  of  gold 
to  be  had  in  other  grabs  not  yet  preempted  by  the  white 
man." 

"  Have  the  natives  no  redress  from  the  wrong  per 
petrated  on  them  by  the  concessionaires?  " 

"  As  I  started  out  to  say,  Huntingdon,  the  natives 
have  demanded  an  adjustment  of  their  wrongs,  but 
what  can  the  government  do?  They've  taken  and  con 
tinue  to  take  an  annual  stipend  from  the  concession 
aires  for  the  exclusive  exploitation  of  certain  territories ; 


190  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

if  the  natives  are  permitted  ownership  of  that  which  is 
legally  their  own,  the  French  government  is  liable  to 
breach  of  contract  with  the  traders,  hence  monetary 
damages." 

"  But  wherein  lies  the  greatest  wrong?  "  demanded 
Huntingdon.  "  Isn't  it  where  the  majority  are  op 
pressed  to  the  gain  of  a  few?  " 

"  Certainly  it  is,  but  the  French  government  tempo 
rizes  and  temporizes ;  and  in  the  meanwhile,  native  towns 
have  fallen  into  decay,  young  men  and  young  women 
have  run  away  from  them  to  open  trade  districts  where 
work  is  to  be  had;  old  men  and  old  women,  once  a 
power  unto  themselves,  and  leaders  of  powerful  tribes, 
sit  disconsolate  and  wretched,  contrasting  the  prosperity 
and  happiness  of  open  trade  days  with  the  restricted 
trade  conditions  of  to-day.  No  comparison  so  keen  as 
that  of  a  savage  where  only  two  things  are  to  be  com 
pared.  They  contrast  the  poverty  of  to-day  with  the 
prosperity  of  open-trade  days.  From  the  government 
the  natives  hide,  because  they  fear  imprisonment  for 
nonpayment  of  taxes  which  they  cannot  possibly  raise; 
they  refuse  to  work  their  lands  and  have  their  products 
condemned  and  themselves  arrested  for  theft ;  conces 
sionaires  can't  get  laborers  and  all  is  chaos.  Now  here's 
where  you  come  in.  Find  out  what  concessions  are 
about  to  go  under;  have  your  solicitor  go  to  their  home 
offices  in  France  or  in  Belgium,  buy  them  out,  operate 
them  ostensibly  by  French  companies,  and  put  in  a  few 
men  that  you  know  to  be  trustworthy.  Once  in  posses 
sion,  the  hint  can  be  dropped  to  the  natives  that  you're 
the  real  owner,  and  you'll  have  applications  for  work 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  191 

and  more  products  willingly  brought  to  you  than  you 
can  conceive  of,  or  could  get  in  any  other  way." 

"  Thanks,  old  man,  it's  awfully  kind  of  you,"  said 
Huntingdon,  gratefully.  "  I'll  act  on  your  hint." 

"  I  presume  you  can  command  all  the  capital  you 
need?  " 

"  Yes.  If  I  make  good  the  governor  will  see  to  that. 
We're  to  have  a  corporation  of  which  I'm  to  be  the 
head." 

"  Good !  Get  busy  about  those  concessions  as  soon 
as  you  can.  There's  no  time  like  the  present,  things 
move  slowly  out  here,  Europe's  far  away  for  correspon 
dence,  and  life's  so  uncertain." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

As  Huntingdon  and  Smithson  chatted  confidentially, 
whistling  carelessly,  Sadler  swaggered  aft  to  the  galley. 

In  the  doorway  sat  Makaya  digging  a  jigger  from  his 
foot  with  a  paring  knife. 

"  Then  you  mek  chop  for  them  knife  without  wash 
ing  him?  " 

"  I  fit  for  wish  um,  Mon  Dleu  I  fit  — 

"  You're  a  liar !  But  if  I  ketch  you  at  it  —  "  and 
Sadler's  fists  came  together.  "  Say,  Makaya,  you  savvy 
them  fine,  fine  drinking  cups  of  King  Huntingdon?  " 

"  I  savvy." 

"  Fetch  one." 

Makaya  brought  forth  a  cup  of  rhinoceros  horn. 

"  Now  fetch  rimgo."  l 

Their  voices  vibrated  through  sleepy  space.  Curi 
ous,  Mbega,  Ogula  and  Ngumbe  came  from  their  rest 
ing  places,  and  gathered  about  Sadler  and  the  Loango. 

"  Put  them  ningo  for  cup,  Makaya !  " 

The  Loango  obeyed. 

"  Look  them  cup  for  outside,  you  wild-eyed  bushpigs. 
Him  ketch  all  same  water  no  live?  " 

Four  pairs  of  distended  eyes  minutely  examined  the 
outside  of  the  cup,  wondering  what  the  palaver  was 
about. 

i  Water. 

192 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  193 

"  Throw  them  water  out.  Look  outside  them  cup 
again.  He  ketch  all  same,  eh?  " 

Again  a  lengthy  and  minute  examination  in  tense  si 
lence.  Then,  growing  superstitious,  the  natives  backed 
away. 

"  Them  cup  all  same  water  live,  water  no  live?  "  de 
manded  the  little  skipper. 

No  one  answered.  The  restless  eyes  of  the  savages 
betrayed  their  desire  to  run  away. 

"Answer!"  and  Sadler  kicked  Ngumbe,  viciously. 

"  Them  cup  all  same  water  live,  no  Jive,"  admitted 
Ngumbe,  weakly. 

"  Here  you,  Makaya,  now  put  the  rest  of  them  water 
in  them  cup  !  " 

The  Loango  reluctantly  obeyed.  His  hand  was  nerv 
ous  ;  fear  was  alive  within  him,  and  in  the  others  too. 

"  Put  them  cup  for  ground !  "  Sadler  commanded. 

The  Loango  was  glad  to  be  rid  of  it.  He  backed 
away,  followed  by  the  others. 

"  Here,  you  black-skinned  vermin,  get  'round  close, 
in  a  circle!  "  and  Sadler  punched  the  savages,  one  after 
the  other,  forcing  them  to  form  a  circle  about  him. 

Slowly  he  gazed  at  each,  and,  when  abject  fear  of 
what  was  to  follow  held  the  savages  motionless,  suddenly, 
Sadler  pulled  from  his  pocket  a  twig  bearing  green 
leaves,  and  dangled  it  in  their  faces ! 

They  drew  sharply  away  —  affrighted ! 

Farther  and  farther  apart  they  edged,  then  Mbega 
started  to  run ;  the  others  essayed  to  follow,  but  Sadler 
bellowed : 

"  Stay  here,  you  brutes,  or  I'll  make  every  damn 
nigger  drink  the  bally  stuff."  The  threat  caused  the 


194  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

savages  to  reluctantly  gather  again  about  their  tormen 
tor,  and  he  yelled :  "  Makaya,  you  wretch,  name  them 
thing !  " 

"  Mboundu,  mboundu,"  whispered  the  Loango,  in  a 
voice  hollow  with  fear,  his  thin  form  vibrating  nervously. 

"  What  he  be  for?  "  demanded  Sadler,  relentlessly. 

"  Him  be  poison,  proper  poison,"  came  from  the  ter 
rified  Loango. 

"  Oh,  ho !  "  rollicked  Sadler.  "  You  know  your  devil 
ish  medceen  then  —  the  truck  you  feed  to  suspected 
criminals.  Guilty  they  live  for  ground,1  not  guilty 
they  don't  live  for  ground.  I  speak  true  for  mouth?  " 
and  again  Sadler  shoved  the  twig  in  the  faces  of  the 
savages. 

"  True !  "  muttered  Ogula,  the  giant,  childish  with 
fear,  while  Mbega  clung  to  the  earth  in  abject  terror; 
and  Ngumbe  held  his  breath.  For  mboundu,  the  great 
trial  poison,  is  universally  dreaded ! 

Dramatically  Sadler  dropped  on  his  haunches,  and 
bent  over  the  cup. 

"  Gimme  a  knife,"  he  yelled. 

Not  a  savage  moved.  Mbega  still  kept  his  face  close 
to  the  earth. 

"  Mbega,  you  bush  pig,  gimme  your  knife  ?  " 

"  Never  got  um,  Master,  never  got  urn,"  the  wretch 
whined. 

"  Get  up,  then,  or  I'll  make  you  chew  off  this  jolly 
mboundu  with  your  teeth." 

Mbega  quickly  arose,  and  Ogula  took  a  great  hunting 
knife  from  his  cloth  and  eagerly  extended  it. 

"You're  waking  up,   are   you?"     And   Sadler   spat 

iDie. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  195 

in  the  giant's  face.  "  Ah,  it's  a  good  thing  there's  some 
devil  that  makes  your  cowardly  hearts  submit  to  your 
masters.  Now,  come  closer !  " 

The  savages  were  again  reluctant  to  obey,  and,  slash 
ing  the  air  viciously  with  the  knife,  Sadler  threatened : 

"  I>on't  be  all  day  or  I'll  carve  you  into  bits,  one 
after  the  other." 

Again  the  savages  slowly  closed  around  Sadler. 

Although  inwardly  laughing,  the  little  skipper's  lips 
were  set  in  a  straight  line  and  his  blue  eyes  were  hard 
as  steel. 

Dramatically  he  scraped  the  bark  of  the  strychnine 
into  the  cup,  the  eyes  of  the  savages  watching  his  every 
move ;  over  and  about  the  cup  he  danced  a  sailor's 
hornpipe,  emitting  piercing  gallery-god  whistles  which 
shrieked  through  space  to  the  dense  bush  beyond  from 
whence  they  were  thrown  back  in  mocking  echoes ;  then, 
suddenly,  he  took  up  the  cup  in  one  hand  and  with  the 
other  he  briskly  stirred  the  mixture,  holding  it  close  to 
the  faces  of  the  savages  and  crying  in  terror-sustaining 
tones : 

"  Look  them  cup  for  outside,  look  um,  you  fiends 
from  hell,  look  um !  " 

The  eyes  of  the  savages  almost  started  from  their 
heads  as  the  cup  slowly  discolored! 

There  was  no  restraining  the  savages  noAV ;  they  were 
off  on  the  wings  of  superstitious  fear,  and  little  Sadler 
yelled : 

"  Hit  the  breeze  lively,  you  fiends  from  hell,  and 
never  forget  that  witch  doctor  for  King  Hunting 
don  tell  him  when  black  man  make  medceen  for  him 
belly !  " 


196  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Moore  didn't  come  near  all  week,  although  Smithson's 
departure  for  N'djole  was  known  all  over  Cape  Lopez. 

On  Saturday  night  Huntingdon  and  Sadler  went 
aboard  the  Avant-Garde  to  see  their  comrade  off. 

Moore  was  drinking  with  her  captain,  LeBlanc,  the 
Frenchman,  and  Wildman,  the  Swiss. 

He  took  no  notice  of  his  compatriots.  Nor  they  of 
him.  They  might  have  been  utter  strangers  to  each 
other. 

The  night  was  divine. 

The  moon  was  big,  round  and  low,  shedding  a  silvery 
radiance  over  all  things,  and  tingeing  them  with  romance. 

A  gentle,  cooling  breeze  tempered  the  heat. 

Africa  throbbed  with  entrancing  witchery. 

In  silence  the  white  men  walked  the  little  deck. 

Suddenly,  Smithson  stopped  and  sighed: 

"  Ah,  why  can't  Africa  always  be  like  this,  livable  and 
beautiful?  " 

There  was  such  a  world  of  tragedy  in  his  voice,  that, 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  the  irrepressible  Sadler 
found  no  voice  for  raillery  and  mockery.  Hunting 
don,  too,  was  silent.  The  night  breeze  alone  answered 
Smithson  and  what  it  said  cannot  be  interpreted  by  men. 

Smithson  gazed  steadily  out  over  the  bay,  which,  under 
the  moon,  was  an  expanse  of  shimmering  silver,  but  from 
the  land,  distinct  and  clear,  came  the  mournful  swish 
of  the  gaunt  cocotlers. 

"  Dead  men's  bones,  that's  what  they  rattle  like  —  fit 
ting  sentinels  for  that  hole  in  the  ground  —  on  those 
forsaken  sands  —  and  the  moan  of  the  sea  —  God,  will 
only  eternal  sleep  shut  them  out  —  will  — " 

Huntingdon  and  Sadler  stole  away. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  197 

"  He's  got  the  jim-jams  bad,"  whispered  little  Sadler. 
"  His  complexion's  the  color  of  the  Ogowe." 

"  I  guess  he's  in  for  it,  poor  old  chap,"  commiserated 
Huntingdon. 

"  I  say,  Huntingdon,  you've  got  —  what  is  it  the 
Frenchies  say  you've  got  —  aplomb.  Use  it  now  on 
him,"  and  Sadler  jerked  his  head  towards  Smithson. 

"  What  would  you  suggest?  " 

"  Get  on  shore  without  making  circuses  of  ourselves. 
I  feel  like  bolting  without  even  saying  good-by." 

"  That  would  never  do." 

"  I  savvy  that  —  but  I  ain't  got  no  words  to  fit.  If 
it  was  to  swear,  I'd  be  all  right,  but  palaver  like  this  — • 
ah,  gwan  —  you  know  how  to  handle  it  —  the  Pomme- 
de-terre-fritters  say  that  you're  never  left  when  it  comes 
to  doing  the  proper  thing  at  the  proper  time.  Use  your 
savery  fairey  as  Moore  calls  it." 

Huntingdon  led  Sadler  around  the  deck,  and,  ap 
proaching  Smithson  from  the  other  side,  he  yawned, 
wearily,  and  said  in  tired,  drawling  tones: 

"  Yes,  indeed,  Sadler,  we've  been  hitting  it  up  pretty 
lively  since  I  landed  on  the  beach.  I'm  just  about  as 
far  gone  as  I  can  go  without  dropping  all  together.  I 
hope  this  breeze  keeps  up  —  still  I'm  tired  enough  to 
sleep  even  in  Hades." 

"  Yes,  and  I'm  tired  too,"  agreed  Smithson,  "  but 
whether  I'll  sleep  or  not  is  another  matter.  I  dread 
the  trip  ahead  of  me.  Ten  days  or  two  weeks  of  monot 
onous  misery.  Traveling  at  a  snail's  pace  during  the 
day.  At  night  tying  up  at  a  wood  pile  or  a  mangrove 
tree,  food  for  mosquitoes  and  wet  heat.  Ah,  well ;  'tis 
Hell's  Playground.  Good-by,  my  friends.  Good  health 


198  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

and  good  luck.  They  sound  a  farce  out  here  —  but  it's 
the  conventional  good-by  of  the  coast  —  and  we've  got 
to  be  conventional  —  even  in  farce." 

He  laughed  in  a  tired,  pathetic  manner. 

"  An  revoir,  old  chap,"  cried  Huntingdon,  warmly 
wringing  Smithson's  hand  and  forcing  life  into  his  tones. 
"  Until  we  meet  again.  Take  care  of  yourself. 
Good  luck,  good  health,  and  many,  many  thanks." 

"  Until  next  time,  old  man,"  was  all  Sadler  said  — 
all  he  could  say. 

The  Avant-Garde  was  to  leave  on  the  early  morning 
tide,  so  as  to  make  the  flats  at  Yombe  Point,  one  of  the 
many  mouths  of  the  Ogowe. 

From  the  beach  Huntingdon  and  Sadler  again  called 
good-by  and  waved  their  hats  in  farewell. 

Smiths  on  leaned  over  the  rail  and  smiled  at  them. 
The  moonlight  fell  full  upon  him.  He  was  all  in  white ! 
He  drooped,  pathetically. 

The  deck  was  deserted.  He  was  alone,  but  from  the 
salle  a  manger  came  Moore's  boisterous  cry  : 

"  Vive  La  France,  Pomme-de-terre-frit!  "  followed  by 
the  cockney  song: 

Come  where  the  booze  is  cheaper, 
Come  where  the  mugs  hold  more, 
Come  where  the  boss  is  a  bit  of  a  joss, 
Let's  go  to  the  pub  next  door! 


CHAPTER     XIV 

IN  four  weeks,  Ngumbe  arrived  in  a  canoe. 

"  Master  Smithson,  he  live  for  ground,"  he  said 
lightly,  as  though  delivering  news  of  a  good  time. 
"  King  Huntingdon,  you  fit  for  tek  me  as  houseboy.  I 
be  proper  boy  for  big  White  King.  Bushboy  never 
pas'  me  for  white  man  palaver." 

Neither  by  voice  nor  gesture  did  Huntingdon  betray 
the  shock  to  his  nerves  by  the  abrupt  news  of  Smith- 
son's  death. 

"  I  fit  take  you,  Ngumbe,"  he  said  quietly.  "  Fall 
into  your  old  place  \  " 

"  Hello  there,  Monkey  Face,  what's  the  palaver?  " 
rollicked  Sadler. 

"  Smithson's  —  dead  —  Sadler,  he's  gone,"  said 
Huntingdon. 

The  laughter  died  from  Sadler's  eyes. 

"  What  it  be?  "  he  asked  gently,  of  Ngumbe. 

"  Fire  ketch  master's  skin.  All  blankets  from  fac 
tory,  no  get  warm.  Skin  he  burn,  blood  he  cold.  Him 
bushi&oman  mek  medceen.  No  good.  Sweat  never 
ketch.  Him  ask  for  brandy.  Master  put  litre  for 
belly.  He  sleep,  one  day,  two  day,  three  day  —  worms 
he  ketch — " 

"  Enough,  Ngumbe ! "  commanded  Huntingdon. 
"  Report  for  duty  in  the  morning!  " 

Silence  fell  between  the  two  white  men. 
199 


200  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

"  I  think  Smithson  must  have  felt  it  too  —  that  it 
was  good-by,"  said  Sadler  after  a  time.  "  Moore,  the 
shrimp !  " 

Huntingdon  remained  silent. 

HOAV  awful  to  die  alone,  in  the  bush,  away  from  loved 
ones  —  from  Marj  orie ! 

Sadler  literally  threw  Huntingdon  out  of  the  factory. 

"  Go  hunt,  do  as  you  jolly  well  please,  but  get  out 
of  my  sight.  I'll  not  be  here  much  longer.  The  Oka'll 
be  soon  in  trim.  Then  you'll  have  to  do  time.  But 
not  now.  Sneak  !  " 

A  deeper  feeling  for  the  little  skipper  gripped  Hunt 
ingdon.  He  understood! 

Moore  swaggered  in  to  gossip  of  Smithson's  death. 
But  he  had  scarce  passed  the  threshold  of  the  factory, 
before  Sadler  raged: 

"  Get  your  deceitful  mug  out  o'  here,  or  I'll  crack 
it  for  you." 

Moore  wanted  to  argue,  but  Sadler  disappeared  in  the 
storeroom. 

Huntingdon  sought  the  Douane. 

"  Monsieur  le  Douane,  Mr.  Smithson,  my  compatriot, 
is  dead,"  he  announced  without  preamble. 

"  Sacre  cceur!  " 

In  the  Creole's  handclasp  lay  a  world  of  sympathy. 
Then  he  spread  out  his  jeweled  fingers,  shrugged  his 
shoulders  and  consoled: 

"  He  has  left  ennui,  la  tristesse,  this  country  barbare. 
He  is  to  be  envied ! " 

Silence  fell ;  silence,  the  language  of  the  strong ;  si 
lence,  the  comforter  of  the  suffering ! 

Huntingdon  dropped  on  a  divan.     He  gazed  out  o'er 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  201 

the  bay.  He  recalled  Smithson  in  the  moonlight;  his 
prescience  of  death ! 

'Twas  opera  bouffe  no  more !  Hell's  Playground  was 
a  reality ! 

The  Douane  picked  up  de  Maupassant's  La  Vie  Er- 
rante,  and  in  French,  with  a  soft,  pleasing,  soothing 
accent,  he  read: 

"  '  The  frail  and  triangular  stems  of  papyrus,  eight  or 
nine  feet  high,  bore  at  the  top  round  clusters  of  green 
threads,  soft  and  flexible,  like  human  hair.  They  re 
sembled  heads  that  had  become  plants,  "which  might  have 
been  thrown  into  the  sacred  stream  by  one  of  the  pagan 
deities  who  lived  there  in  days  gone  by.  Is  it  not  strange 
that  this  wonderful  plant,  which  brought  to  our  minds 
the  thoughts  of  the  dead,  which  was  the  guardian  of 
the  human  genius,  should  have  on  its  ancient  body  an 
enormous  mane  of  thick  and  flowing  hair,  such  as  poets 
effect?  '  Is  that  not  an  exquisite  thought,  mon  ami?  " 

Huntingdon's  gray  mood  dissolved  before  the  em 
broidery  of  de  Maupassant  and  the  subtle  magnetism  of 
the  creole. 

"  'Tis  sublime,  mon  cher  ami,"  he  said.  "  I,  too, 
feel  that  plants  have  souls.  That  they  were  once  beau 
tiful  women  beloved  of  men.  As  plants,  flowers,  they 
come  to  us,  bringing  fragrance  and  beauty  and  recollec 
tions  to  soothe  us  in  moments  of  depression,  of  sor 
row." 

"  True,  true !  When  I  press  a  flower  to  my  lips,  mon 
cher  Huntingdon,  in  its  calyx  I  see  the  eyes  of  her  I 
love.  Ah,  woman's  lips !  Their  nectar  is  Lethe  for  tor 
tured  souls.  Life  without  woman  is  death." 


202  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

The  Douane  broke  another  silence. 

"  Listen  again,  mon  cher  ami,  what  my  poet  says  of 
flamingoes :  '  Some  were  swimming  and  others  stood 
about  on  their  long  legs.  They  looked  like  floating  red 
and  white  spots,  or  enormous  flowers,  glowing  on  a 
slender  red  stalk.  Hundreds  were  grouped  together, 
either  in  the  water  or  on  the  banks.  One  would  think  it 
were  a  hedge  of  carmined  lilies  from  which  emerged,  as 
from  a  corolla,  the  blood-stained  heads  of  birds  on  a 
long,  curved  neck.  It  was  like  the  flight  of  a  garden, 
with  flower  baskets,  rising  towards  the  sky,  one  after 
the  other.'  " 

"  Sainte  Vierge!  "  exclaimed  Huntingdon,  "  what  a 
metaphor !  No  one  save  a  great  soul,  an  exquisite,  could 
give  birth  to  it." 

"  You're  right,  cher  Huntingdon.  Such  thoughts 
never  could  occur  to  ordinary  minds.  You've  seen  a 
flock  of  flamingoes  in  flight?  " 

"  The  pleasure  is  yet  to  be  mine,  mon  cher  Douane  " 

"  It  shall  be  my  most  exquisite  happiness  to  show  you 
that  Guy  de  Maupassant's  poesy  is  taken  from  life." 

"  I  thank  you  a  million  times,  mon  cher  camarade." 

The  creole  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

After  another  silence,  he  remarked: 

"  You've  been  in  Turkey,  without  doubt." 

"  Yes." 

"  You've  read  Monsieur  Loti's  Des  Enchantees?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  You  like  it?  " 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  do.  It  seems  to  me  a  boast  of 
the  author's  amourettes.  To  boast  of  a  woman  —  any 
sort  of  a  woman  —  is  unpardonable." 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  203 

"  Certainement;  'tis  a  crime  enorme  to  boast  of  the 
affaires  de  cceur.  But  the  tale  is  too  sombre.  Such 
life  for  a  woman !  'Tis  death.  My  Creole  blood  is  al 
ways  jealous  of  the  woman  I  love,  but  I  do  not  believe 
in  shutting  her  up.  I  do  not  relish  pale  cheeks,  dulled 
eyes  and  listlessness.  I  like  the  ripe,  warm,  luscious 
fruit  —  What  do  you  think  of  your  Monsieur  Hich- 
ens'  story  —  The  Garden  of  Allah?  " 

The  Douane  pronounced  it  Al-lah,  after  the  manner 
of  the  East. 

"  'Tis  a  tapestry  of  delight,  a  tracery  of  ideal  love," 
enthused  Huntingdon,  love  glowing  within  him  to  the 
exclusion  of  every  other  emotion.  "  Would  you  not 
love  a  honeymoon  like  that,  Monsieur  le  Douane?  " 

"  To  have  been  all  alone  with  the  woman  I  love?  Yes. 
To  make  her  feel  that  she  was  wholly  dependent  upon 
me,  that  I  was  tout-a-fait  dependent  upon  her?  Yes. 
To  live  only  in  and  for  each  other?  Yes.  But  —  she 
would  have  wounded  me  unto  death  had  she  not  told  me 
of  the  unborn  enfant." 

"  What  you  don't  know  cannot  cause  you  suffering," 
reasoned  Huntingdon,  a  smile  on  his  lips.  'Twas  the 
Douane  who  was  almost  in  tears  now. 

"  Ah,  but  my  soul  would  tell  me  that  the  woman  I 
love  was  concealing  something  from  me." 

"  Androvski  never  would  have  returned  to  the  mon 
astery  had  Domini  told  him  of  the  child." 

"  Mon  Dieu,  how  could  he  leave  une  grande  passion 
comme  ca  and  go  into  the  unsympathetic  monastery  with 
its  lean,  unemotional  priests?  How  could  he  be  so  in 
sensible?  That  is  no  way  to  reward  an  amour  parfait. 
How  could  he  forget  les  embraces  si  passionnees? 


204  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

"  He  did  not  forget  them.  No  man  could  ever  for 
get  such  ardor." 

"  Then  why  did  he  leave  them?  "  demanded  the  Douane 
as  though  he  were  catechising  a  culprit,  and  that  cul 
prit  were  Androvski  himself. 

"  Because  of  his  love  for  Domini." 

The  Douane  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  You  English  are  drole.  You  leave  a  woman  be 
cause  you  love  her.  We  leave  her  —  because  love  is 
dead." 

"  Monsieur  le  Douane?  " 

"  Oui,  Monsieur  Huntingdon?  " 

"  When  Domini  discovered  Androvski  was  a  monk  — 
you  recall  how  great  was  her  shock?  " 

"  Oui,  pauvre  femme!  " 

"  Alors.  Think  you  it  was  easy  for  her  to  come  to 
the  decision  that  he  must  go  back  —  to  that  '  unsympa 
thetic  monastery,  with  its  lean,  unemotional  priests  '?  " 

"  Ah,  she  did  not  need  to  think  about  it  at  all !  She 
should  have  held  him  tighter,  she  should  have  kissed  him 
all  the  more,  she  should  have  told  him  of  the  flower  of 
love  to  bloom  for  them !  Non,  non,  I 'amour  est  la  vie! 
I  do  not  like  the  Domini.  I  do  not  like  the  Androvski 
—  save  in  the  desert,  in  the  night,  in  the  silence.  Ah, 
Monsieur  Huntingdon,  you  English  do  not  know  how 
to  love  —  you  do  not  know  how." 

Huntingdon's  heart  beats  were  quicker,  his  blood 
flowed  more  lively.  Once  again  in  England  would  he 
not  know  how  to  love?  He  who  was  starving  for  af 
fection,  for  the  love  and  companionship  of  a  woman ! 

It  was  the  Douane  who  broke  another  long  silence. 

"  Monsieur  Huntingdon?  " 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  205 

"  Oui,  Monsieur  le  Douane." 

"  I  have  the  honor  to  announce  a  very  great  surprise 
and  pleasure  to  you." 

"  Oui?  " 

Huntingdon's  interest  and  attention  showed  in  his 
manner  and  his  eyes. 

"  I  am  going  to  the  chasse  with  you." 

"  'Tis  indeed  a  surprise  and  a  delight,  mon  ami,"  cried 
Huntingdon,  joyously. 

"  If  you  will  lend  me  les  cartouches." 

"  All  you  wish  and  rifles  too.  You  know  I've  a  whole 
armory  with  me  —  thanks  to  the  courtesy  of  your  gov 
ernment.  When  are  we  off?  " 

"  At  your  pleasure." 

"  To-morrow?  " 

"  To-morrow." 

The  Douane  summoned  a  sergeant.  He  gave  rapid 
command  in  French.  At  break  of  day  he  would  set 
out  for  the  chase ;  all  must  be  in  readiness. 

A  delightful  day  was  spent  and  much  game  was 
bagged.  The  Douane  proved  himself  a  good  shot  and  a 
general  all-round  sportsman. 

That  was  the  beginning  of  close  companionship  and 
friendship  between  the  Englishman  and  the  creole.  Each 
continuously  sought  the  other's  society ;  two  well-trained 
intellects  met  and  each  learned  something  from  the  other. 
Their  converse  was  of  art  and  life ;  of  philosophy  and 
religion;  of  men  and  women.  Each  considered  woman 
the  masterpiece  of  creation,  the  highest  form  of  divine 
expression ;  they  regretted  her  absence  and  suffered  from 
loneliness,  yet  neither  of  them  would  have  willingly 
brought  her  there  to  that  savage  country.  The 


206  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Douane's  wife  had  come  because  she  considered  it  her 
duty  to  do  so,  and  while  the  Douane  lived  only  when  she 
was  there,  yet  there  was  ever  present  the  fear  that  ill 
ness  or  accident  might  forever  take  her  from  him.  He 
had  seen  her  off  to  Europe,  glad  to  know  that  she  would 
be  at  their  home  in  Martinique,  surrounded  by  their 
flowers  of  love:  two  little  girls,  so  sweet  and  bea^ltiful  as 
not  to  seem  real. 

To  Sadler,  Huntingdon  could  talk  unreservedly  of  his 
business  plans,  but  of  Marjorie,  Huntingdon  spoke  only 
to  the  Creole.  Great  were  the  pleasure  and  solace  he 
derived  therefrom,  and  the  languid  Creole,  the  volup 
tuary,  never  tired  of  Huntingdon's  description  of  his 
lady  love,  his  dilations  upon  her  charms  and  accom 
plishments.  They  brought  the  Creole  a  new  delight,  a 
sort  of  reflected  ardor  of  the  faith  and  trust  and  love 
of  his  friend  for  the  woman  for  whose  sake  he  sought 
exile  and  toil. 

Huntingdon  spoke  of  Marjorie's  vow  to  be  faithful 
unto  death,  and  his  own  pledge  of  fidelity  through  all 
eternity. 

"  'Tis  woman's  sacred  duty  to  be  faithful,"  remarked 
the  Douane. 

"  What  about  the  man?  "  Huntingdon  demanded. 

"  He  means  to  be  true."  shrugged  the  Douane,  "  but 
when  la  tristesse  tortures,  la  femme  is  the  only  relief; 
la  femme  et  I'amour." 

"  You  don't  call  that  love,"  indignantly  protested  the 
Englishman. 

"  Mon  cher  ami,"  and  the  Creole  lightly  laid  his 
jeweled  fingers  with  their  long  polished  nails  upon  Hunt 
ingdon's  arm  and  said  kindly,  "  love  is  a  word  applied 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  207 

to  many  emotions  and  morality  is  a  point  of  view  — 
please  don't  let  us  discuss  it.  Come,  let's  play  ecarte; 
we'll  while  away  the  heavy  hours  with  the  Goddess  of 
Chance,  who  is  but  another  manifestation  of  bewitching 
woman.  Come,"  and  the  friends  gambled  recklessly 
through  the  dragging  hours  of  many  a  long,  monotonous, 
tropical  night. 


CHAPTER  XV 

MEANWHILE,  shortly  after  Smithson's  death,  Sadler, 
in  command  of  the  little  Oka,  set  out  with  cargo  for  the 
Ogowe. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life,  Huntingdon  was  thrown 
upon  himself,  and  he  met  the  occasion. 

He  gave  short,  strict  orders  to  his  servants.  No 
slackness ;  no  disorder.  Delinquents  would  be  dismissed 
and  never  taken  back. 

Itula  had  charge  of  the  f  actor}7 ;  Ngumbe  of  the 
house ;  Makaya  of  the  galley. 

Ngumbe  was  always  to  wear  fresh  whites.  They 
would  be  furnished  by  his  master. 

The  bungalow  was  thoroughly  cleansed.  Changes  in 
it  were  planned  and  designs  were  made  for  new  furni 
ture.  Both  were  to  be  finished  by  Christmas.  Besides, 
drawings  were  made  for  a  new  bungalow,  which  was  to 
be  ready  next  June,  when  Huntingdon's  term  of  service 
with  Holt  had  expired. 

Sadler  recommended  the  Catholic  fathers  at  Lam- 
barene  as  expert  builders,  carpenters  and  carvers,  and 
Huntingdon  gave  them  carte  blanche  to  go  ahead. 

He  was  happy,  genuinely  happy. 

He  reveled  in  doing  —  with  no  one  to  say  him  nay. 

Five  days  in  the  week  were  devoted  to  business. 
Saturday  and  Sunday  were  given  to  the  chase,  and  the 
evenings  to  the  Douane. 

208 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  209 

The  weather  was  ideal.  It  was  Africa's  winter. 
Huntingdon  gloried  in  it.  Cape  Lopez  seemed  the  most 
delightful  spot  on  earth. 

Late  in  August  the  British  gunboat  Dwarf  put  in  for 
her  annual  recruit. 

Her  arrival  gave  new  zest  to  affairs. 

Hunt  followed  hunt,  and  entertainment,  entertain 
ment. 

Sadler  was  down,  Moore  was  again  welcomed. 

Cape  Lopez  never  before  knew  such  revelry,  such 
hunting.  No  man  lagged  behind. 

The  game  bagged  was  far  beyond  the  quantity  and 
kind  permitted  by  the  government. 

But  what  mattered  that?  Were  not  the  Douane,  the 
Commandant  and  the  Chef  de  Paste  of  the  party? 

And  was  not  that  Hunters'  Paradise,  the  Plains  of 
Mandji,  worthy  of  those  mighty  hunts? 

Huntingdon's  shooting  was  marvelous.  He  drank 
nothing  when  after  big  game.  He  never  lost  sight  of 
his  danger.  He  owed  it  to  Marjorie  to  take  the  best 
care  possible  of  himself.  He  preserved  and  shipped  to 
her  and  to  his  father  game  rare  even  in  the  great 
museums  of  the  world. 

Though  his  interest  was  keen  in  the  okapi,  Duyker 
antelopes  and  a  giant,  black  pig,  Huntingdon's  greatest 
enthusiasm  was  for  the  gorilla.  His  captive  stood  over 
six  feet  high  and  so  human  was  he  in  some  respects  that 
Huntingdon  was  not  only  fascinated  but  frightened. 
For  hours  he  watched  and  studied  the  anthropoid ;  his 
ears,  though  inordinately  small  for  his  huge  body, 
were  perfect  as  a  man's ;  he  walked  upright ;  he  used  his 
foot  as  a  hand  and  enormous  strength  was  in  his  long, 


210  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

muscular  arms.  With  them  he  beat  furiously  upon 
his  stout  iron  cage ;  he  seemed  to  know  that  Huntingdon 
was  his  jailer,  and,  at  his  approach,  the  ape  raged  furi 
ously.  He  refused  to  eat ;  and  at  night  his  cries  were 
especially  shrill  and  of  a  peculiar  character;  he  seemed 
to  be  appealing  to  his  friends  of  the  bush  for  release, 
and  time  and  time  again  they  answered  him.  The  sixth 
night  of  his  capture  he  escaped  and  there  was  every 
evidence  that  outside  aid  had  been  rendered  him. 

Huntingdon  had  more  faith  than  ever  in  Darwin's 
theory.  He  felt  confident  that  the  mystery  of  the  miss 
ing  link  was  contained  in  the  shadowy  bush  about  him ; 
he  wished  he  had  time  to  pursue  the  matter  exhaustively, 
but  he  was  there  not  as  a  student,  but  as  a  worker;  he 
had  much  to  do  and  a  limited  time  in  which  to  accom 
plish  it. 

Huntingdon's  fame  as  a  dead  sure  shot  had  traveled 
far  and  wide. 

From  his  bush  town  came  Chief  Ragundo. 

For  months  a  leopard  had  been  terrifying  the  people. 
Traps  had  been  set,  but  the  wily  bush  cat  had  evaded 
them,  and  raid  after  raid  had  been  successfully  made  by 
him.  A  four-year-old  child  had  been  the  last  victim, 
and  the  natives  were  so  frightened  that  they  feared  to 
venture  forth  even  in  the  brilliant  light  of  day. 

Chief  Ragundo  begged  the  Great  White  King  to  dis 
patch  the  marauder. 

Huntingdon's  blood  was  up.  The  bush  and  its  ways 
were  now  pretty  familiar  to  him.  He  determined  the 
leopard  and  he  would  have  an  argument. 

The  moon  was  big,  the  night  still.     Not  a  sound  was 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  211 

heard,  save  the  crying  of  a  gazelle  imprisoned  in  the 
trap  set  for  the  leopard. 

With  Ogula  and  Nkombi  Kakhi,  Huntingdon  took  up 
his  vigil. 

One,  two,  three  hours  passed. 

No  sign  of  the  leopard. 

The  natives  lay  asleep,  they  were  tired. 

The  bush  hid  the  sea  from  Huntingdon's  gaze,  but  he 
heard  the  gentle  murmur  of  the  water.  It  brought  him 
messages  of  her,  the  woman  who  constantly  filled  his 
thoughts.  While  his  body  was  in  Africa  and  he  sat  on 
the  ground,  his  gun  on  his  knee,  his  eyes  on  the  moonlit 
space  over  which  the  leopard  must  pass  to  reach  the 
gazelle,  his  thoughts  were  in  England.  He  was  with  his 
beloved ;  they  were  on  the  Thames  in  a  boat.  He  was 
holding  her  sunshade.  He  was  telling  her  how  becom 
ing  white  was  to  her,  when  bang ! 

A  shot  rang  out,  the  natives  jumped  to  their  feet. 

Huntingdon  discovered  himself  on  his  stomach,  his 
discharged  gun  in  his  hand,  while  thirty  yards  away 
lay  a  leopard  —  stone  dead  —  a  soft-nosed  bullet  in  his 
brain ! 

Huntingdon's  subconscious  mind  made  the  kill. 

Great  was  the  rejoicing  among  the  Ouroungoes,  The 
whole  tribe  adopted  Huntingdon  as  their  Mpolo  Tata 
Otangani;  their  Great  White  King;  they  vowed  eternal 
friendship  ;  they  brought  him  many  trophies  of  the  chase. 
What  more  fitting  thing  for  such  a  mighty  Nimrod? 
They  promised  an  elephant  hunt  in  his  honor. 

In  all  the  season's  hunting  only  two  elephants  had 
been  taken  by  the  white  men,  and  Huntingdon  was 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

anxious  to  learn  how  the  savages  brought  down  the  big 
pachyderms.  With  joy  he  received  the  announcement 
of  the  hunt  and  eagerly  he  looked  forward  to  it.  His 
guns  were  primed,  his  ammunition  ready  and  he  was 
prepared  to  set  out  any  time.  But  day  after  day  went 
by  and  time  had  tolled  up  a  month  without  any  sign 
from  the  natives. 

The  leopard's  skin,  an  unusually  large  and  handsome 
one,  was  tanned  and  hung  in  the  factory  where  natives 
flocked  to  see  it,  and  more  wonderful  than  ever  and  more 
exaggerated  were  the  tales  they  told  of  the  Great  White 
King. 

His  eye  was  so  powerful  that  he  charmed  any  wild 
beast  and  rendered  him  harmless ! 

He  had  a  magic  box  in  which  were  charms  to  cure 
any  disease ! 

There  was  another  box  out  of  which  came  the  most 
wonderful  sounds.  The  natives  hung  about  just  to  hear 
it.  Their  own  music  is  primitive,  monotonous,  some 
thing  after  the  solemn  chant  for  the  dead.  Their  sur 
prise  then  was  great  at  melodies  of  popular,  fast-moving 
songs.  Those  who  understood  English  caught  a  word 
here  and  there  and  strutted  about  like  children  inter 
preting  to  less  fortunate  ones  and  adding  something  of 
their  own.  According  to  them,  the  songs  were  of  the 
valorous  deeds  of  the  Great  White  King  and  of  his  con 
quest  of  the  whole  world  and  the  destruction  of  all  his 
enemies ! 

Thus  Huntingdon's  fame  grew  and  was  noised  about 
the  land.  People  came  days'  journeys  to  look  upon  him 
—  to  trade  in  his  factory,  and  he  profited  by  cleaning 
out  old  stock.  The  big  order  he  sent  in  for  new 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  213 

merchandise  caused  great  comment  in  the  home  office. 
The  tenderfoot  was  surely  doing  great  things.  His 
career  was  watched  with  interest. 

Huntingdon  had  given  up  all  hope  of  the  great  native 
elephant  hunt,  when  to  his  surprise,  Ogula  announced 
that  at  last  all  was  ready  and  the  start  was  to  be  made 
proper  early  the  next  morning. 

The  lure  of  the  chase  was  again  quick  within  the  white 
man  and  eagerly  and  joyfully  he  set  out.  He  was  far 
from  a  tenderfoot  now ;  he  was  hardened  and  in  the 
best  possible  physical  condition.  He  was  properly 
dressed  without  one  ounce  of  superfluous  clothing.  He 
wore  low  canvas  shoes  with  rubber  soles ;  puttees  of 
tough,  tan  leather ;  a  tan  blouse  of  silk  and  wool ;  a  dark 
green  helmet,  and  though  his  green  khakis  were  worse 
for  wear,  they  were  serviceable  and  inconspicuous. 

After  a  long,  arduous  march,  Huntingdon  was  disap 
pointed  and  disgusted  to  find  a  poor  pachyderm  in  his 
death  throes,  a  keen  knife  having  pierced  his  brain  with 
peculiar  exactness. 

Huntingdon  ended  the  beast's  agony. 

Then  he  examined  the  trap.  He  found  it  very  in 
genuous.  Between  two  trees  was  fixed  a  horizontal  bar, 
from  which  hung  a  weighted  spear,  kept  in  position  by 
a  cord  of  tough  bush  rope  held  down  b}r  a  stake  directed 
horizontally  towards  the  middle  of  the  trap  and  by 
another,  which  at  a  convenient  angle,  was  interposed 
between  this  and  the  end. 

The  elephant  had  struck  with  his  feet  and  loosened 
the  contrivance.  It  fell  violently  and  the  knife  caught 
the  victim  in  the  spot  where  the  brain  unites  with  the 
nape  of  the  neck. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Huntingdon  appreciated  the  suddenness  of  the  blow 
and  its  great  force.  The  knife  in  his  neck,  the  poor 
beast  struggles  until  he  dies  ! 

Huntingdon  was  astounded  at  the  size  of  the  elephant ; 
he  was  a  full  grown  male  and  weighed  at  least  four 
tons ! 

The  natives  were  delighted  with  the  kill. 

The  coarse,  rank  flesh,  still  smoking,  was  cut  up  and 
distributed  among  them.  Portions  of  the  trunk  and  the 
feet  were  reserved  for  Huntingdon,  while  a  huge  lump 
of  meat  was  set  apart  for  Chief  Ragundo  in  whose  town 
the  night  was  to  be  passed  and  the  festivities  held. 

Huntingdon  resolved  to  also  reward  Ragundo  with  his 
share  of  the  spoil.  Baked  elephant  feet  didn't  appeal 
to  him,  and  the  trunk  is  tough. 

Huntingdon  turned  away  from  the  hacking  of  the 
still  warm  flesh.  He  imagined  the  corpse  to  be  a  human 
being,  and  the  natives  cannibals  quarreling  over  it! 

He  also  pondered  on  the  laziness  of  the  negroes.  In 
direct  contrast  to  the  Malay  and  other  Eastern  peoples, 
the  equatorial  savages  do  not  domesticate  the  elephant, 
or  any  other  animal.  Huntingdon  was  saddened  for  the 
moment.  What  if,  after  all,  the  natives  should  fail  him 
as  laborers?  But,  again,  he  put  thoughts  of  failure 
from  him ;  he  relaxed  and  his  thoughts  were  of  Marjorie, 
his  beloved.  He  was  content  with  his  progress  so  far 
and  he  longed  for  the  year  to  be  up  when  he  could  go 
it  alone. 

Suddenly,  and,  unceremoniously,  Huntingdon  was 
hauled  from  his  position  by  Ogula,  the  shootman. 

"  Death  he  live.     Medceen  for  him  bite,  no  live." 

Not  a  foot  from  where  Huntingdon  had  sat  was  a 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  215 

cobra,  the  most  deadly  snake  in  all  Africa!  Slowly  his 
body  became  erect ;  the  skin  on  either  side  of  his  head 
was  dilated  until  it  stood  out  like  a  hood,  and  making  a 
noise  like  an  angry  cat,  the  serpent  spat  forth  venom 
with  such  force  that  it  carried  for  at  least  eight  feet ! 

Ogula  pointed  to  his  own  eyes  and  a  great  cut  on  his 
leg  and  said: 

"  If  them  spit  ketch  man  here  and  here,  he  live  for 
ground  one  time." 

"  Awaka,"  l  was  the  only  word  uttered  by  the  white 
man  for  the  great  service  rendered  him.  It  was  spoken 
lazily,  almost  indifferently.  Then  he  gave  command  to 
begin  the  march  towards  Chief  Ragundo's  town. 

They  had  advanced  some  distance  in  silence,  when 
suddenly  Ogula  whispered: 

"  Master,  I  look  for  ear  2  all  same  like  elephant  hunt 
him  chop." 

Huntingdon  listened,  and  he  heard,  in  the  bush  be 
yond,  a  tugging  as  though  a  tree  were  being  deftly  up 
rooted. 

Ogula  bade  the  rest  of  the  hunting  party  remain  in 
silence  while  the  white  man,  Nkombi  Kakhi  and  himself 
went  ahead  to  see  what  was  the  palaver. 

Because  of  the  keenly,  strongly  developed  sense  of 
smell  of  the  elephant,  Ogula  kept  to  the  leeward,  advanc 
ing  cautiously  and  signaling  the  others  to  do  the  same. 
'Twas  towards  four  o'clock  and  there  wasn't  any  wind  — 
a  great  thing  in  their  favor.  For  the  winds  of  Africa 
are  constantly  veering,  and  constitute  one  of  the  greatest 
difficulties  in  elephant  stalking.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
sight  of  the  elephant  is  defective  and  he  does  not  hear 
i  Thanks.  2  Hear. 


216  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

good.  It  is  therefore  possible  to  approach  him  from 
the  leeward  to  within  a  very  short  distance.  And  this 
was  what  the  learned  Ogula  was  doing. 

Unmindful  of  impeding  undergrowth  and  swaying 
overgrowth,  straight  as  a  crow  flies,  the  savage  cau 
tiously  led  the  way  in  direction  of  the  uprooting 
sound. 

With  his  gun  Ogula  pointed  off  to  the  edge  of  the 
bush  where  a  small  stream  flowed  and  beyond  which  was 
a  sandy  plain. 

Huntingdon  beheld  a  marvelous  sight :  a  tusker  and 
a  cow  were  intelligently  helping  each  other  to  over 
throw  a  tree  that  they  might  eat  of  its  root ! 

In  the  bush  a  dismal  silence  reigned.  The  shadows 
were  already  darkening.  But  in  the  full  bright  light 
of  the  open  the  elephants  made  a  glorious  target. 

Yet,  it  was  impossible  to  shoot  from  where  the  hunters 
lay.  The  tangled  bush  intervened. 

Now  came  the  most  ticklish  part  of  the  adventure. 
To  creep  forward  so  as  not  to  disturb  the  animals,  then 
sight  and  fire. 

Suddenly,  the  cow  lifted  up  her  head  and  loudly 
trumpeted ! 

Like  a  leaping  leopard,  Ogula  took  the  bush  and  ran 
parallel  to  the  elephants  ! 

Gone  was  all  attempt  of  concealment  1 

The  beasts  had  scented  danger ! 

The  cow  placed  herself  directly  in  front  of  the  tusker 
and  trumpeted  defiance ! 

Deftly  Nkombi  Kakhi  hurled  his  spear! 

It  rebounded  from  the  cow's  trunk !  She  tramped  it 
to  pieces ! 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Huntingdon,  too,  tore  through  the  bush  and  made  for 
an  opening. 

He  sighted.  He  fired.  Down  went  the  cow,  a  bullet 
under  her  ear ! 

Off  towards  the  plain  started  the  tusker,  and  Hunting 
don's  bullet  caught  him  in  the  thigh.  He  stopped  sud 
denly  in  his  flight,  faced  about,  lifted  his  trunk,  trum 
peted  violently,  and  retraced  his  steps  across  the  stream. 
The  cow  was  also  on  her  feet.  Both  started  at  almost 
incredible  speed  towards  Huntingdon  ! 

Huntingdon  was  fully  alive  to  his  danger,  but  there 
was  comfort  in  the  thought  that  Ogula,  the  shootman, 
and  Nkombi  Kakhi,  his  brother,  were  at  hand. 

As  he  sighted,  he  retreated  a  little  within  the  tangled 
bush,  but,  alas,  he  backed  into  a  tree,  his  helmet  was 
sent  flying  from  his  head  and  he  stumbled !  He  knew 
he  made  a  mistake ;  the  intervening  bush  would  divert 
his  shot.  If  he  remained  where  he  was  the  beasts  had 
him  at  their  mercy  ! 

Where  was  Ogula,  and  why  didn't  his  gun  speak? 
And  Nkombi  Kakhi,  his  brother,  why  did  he  not  make 
his  presence  known?  It  is  true  his  spear  was  broken 
but  he  had  his  great  knife  and  he  might  do  something 
to  divert  the  direction  of  the  maddened  animals ! 

On,  on,  on  came  the  beasts,  the  bush  crackling  loud 
under  their  ponderous,  quick  tread  !  What  was  he  to 
do? 

The  beasts  were  within  a  few  feet  of  him,  it  was  now 
or  never  —  he  dropped  his  gun  —  he  sprang,  he  caught 
the  branch  of  a  tree  —  his  legs  just  swung  clear  when 
the  elephants  passed  under  them ! 

He  felt  the  rush  of  wind  accompanying  their  great 


218  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

speed,  he  smelled  the  strong  odors  from  their  bodies  and 
they  were  so  big  and  wild  that  the  very  bush  was  rent 
aside  as  they  continued  their  flight. 

Huntingdon  descended  and  picked  up  his  gun. 

"  Ogula,  Nkombi  Kakhi !  "  he  commanded,  sharply. 

There  was  no  answer. 

The  retreat  of  the  elephants  died  away  in  the  distance. 
Silence,  dismal  and  profound,  reigned ! 

Why  had  the  savages  deserted  him?  He  hadn't  any 
idea  of  direction !  There  wasn't  a  path  of  any  sort, 
save  the  broken  trail  made  by  the  elephants  ! 

Night  was  near  —  night  with  its  horrors.  Hunting 
don  had  nothing  with  which  to  defend  himself  except  a 
gun.  A  gun  was  useless  in  the  dark ! 

Suddenly,  from  the  rear  there  came  a  breaking  of 
undergrowth.  It  indicated  a  struggle,  and  restored 
Huntingdon's  courage  and  caution. 

With  finger  on  trigger,  Huntingdon  advanced  towards 
the  sound.  He  felt  confident  something  was  happening 
to  his  hunters ! 

And  he  was  right ! 

He  stopped,  literally  rooted  with  amazement ;  without 
a  thought  of  using  his  gun ! 

Shoulder  to  shoulder  and  facing  an  enraged  leopard 
were  Ogula,  the  shootman,  and  Nkombi  Kakhi,  his 
brother ! 

Like  carved  images  were  the  brothers,  their  eyes 
steady  in  those  of  the  treacherous,  aroused  cat! 

Self-preservation  was  alive  within  them.  They  were 
as  alert,  as  determined  as  the  cat  herself.  They  were 
beasts  glaring  at  a  beast ! 

Ogula's  gun  lay  at  his  feet  where  he  didn't  dare  stoop 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  219 

to  get  it.  Even  had  he  dared  stoop,  Huntingdon  saw 
with  horror  that  his  right  arm  hung  helpless  at  his  side. 
He  was  unarmed.  But  not  so  his  brother,  Nkombi 
Kakhi.  The  latter  clutched  his  hunting  knife  in  his 
right  hand.  His  muscles  were  tensed  ready  to  use  it ! 

The  cat  was  on  a  bough  on  a  line  with  the  foreheads  of 
the  brothers  and  only  a  few  feet  distant.  Keeping  her 
eyes  in  those  of  the  men,  she  softly  lowered  on  her 
haunches,  stretched  her  legs  and  sprang ! 

Huntingdon  could  scarcely  believe  his  eyes,  as  the 
brothers  parted,  one  to  either  side,  and  through  the 
space  occupied  by  their  bodies,  leapt  the  cat! 

Huntingdon  came  to  life.     He  fired. 

The  steel  bullet  went  clear  through  the  cat ! 

The  wounded  beast  turned,  and  faced,  not  the 
brothers,  but  Huntingdon ! 

Her  eyes  glowed  through  the  dusk  like  discs  of  angry 
fire.  Saliva  ran  from  her  sharp-pointed,  yellow  de 
cayed  teeth  gleaming  like  cruel  executioners  in  the  open, 
snarling  mouth.  Her  face  was  wrinkled,  distorted  with 
sardonic  rage.  Her  tawny,  brown-spotted  flanks  heaved 
like  tortured  bellows ! 

She  was  wounded.     Her  temper  was  ten-fold  uglier. 

Motionless,  helpless,  stood  the  white  man ! 

The  beast's  eyes  were  full  in  his.  He  was  fascinated 
by  the  grace  of  the  beautiful  creature,  spellbound  by 
the  magnificent  demonstration  of  infuriated  rage  and 
malignity.  He  knew  death  was  there.  But  he  could 
not  help  it.  He  never  thought  of  Ogula  and  Nkombi 
Kakhi.  He  saw  nothing,  knew  nothing,  save  the  beast 
rampant  and  vindictive  just  a  few  yards  from  him ! 

Then,   slowly  the  cat   crept  towards  him.      She  dis- 


220  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

dained  to  spring.  This  human  creature  was  at  her 
mercy !  She  put  out  her  claw  to  fell  him,  when  involun- 
tarity  Huntingdon  dropped  to  the  ground. 

He  awaited  his  death.  He  uttered  one  word: 
Marjorie! 

It  contained  a  world  of  regret,  but  not  a  quiver  of 
fear ! 

He  felt  the  cat's  breath  on  his  neck,  her  claw  on  his 
back  —  then  —  a  form  leaped  over  him  — 

"  Master,  MASTER,  MASTER !  "  came  Nkombi  Kakhi's 
tense  tones. 

Huntingdon  leaped  to  his  feet  and  saw  Nkombi 
Kakhi's  knife  in  the  throat  of  the  beast,  and  Nkombi 
Kakhi's  hands  digging  into  her  windpipe,  while  he  ex 
erted  all  his  strength  to  hold  her! 

Ogula  with  his  left  arm  smashed  his  blunderbuss  over 
the  cat's  head ! 

Fighting  in  extremis,  with  insistent  devilish  rage,  she 
plunged  her  claws  deep  in  the  bare  breast  of  the  brave 
Nkombi  Kakhi ! 

Huntingdon  knew  he  must  pull  himself  together,  get 
the  cat,  or  Nkombi  Kakhi  was  done  for. 

He  placed  his  gun  under  her  ear  and  riddled  her  with 
shot. 

She  died,  writhing  sinuously,  her  beautiful  body 
swaying  gracefully  even  after  the  breath  had  left  her 
lungs ! 

White  man  and  two  black  men  looked  into  each 
other's  eyes  —  equal  to  equal  —  then,  slowly,  Hunt 
ingdon  reached  out  both  hands  and  grasped  those  of  his 
preservers. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

"  Akawa,  Nkombi  Kakhi,  akawa,  Ogula,  his  brother, 
akawa  mpolo  mpolo!  "  l 

"  Aye,"  grunted  the  brothers  in  unison,  "  akawa, 
Mpolo  Ogantani,  Master !  " 

"  Aye,"  answered  Huntingdon,  feelingly. 

Nkombi  Kakhi  cleansed  his  wounds  with  moist  earth, 
then  over  them  he  rubbed  the  milk  from  the  leaf  of  a 
low  bush. 

Huntingdon  examined  Ogula's  arm.  It  was  broken 
at  the  elbow.  A  shoulder  break  would  not  have  been  so 
bad.  Huntingdon  had  two  bones  instead  of  one  to  deal 
with.  But  he  never  hesitated. 

He  propped  Ogula  against  the  tree,  and,  pressing  his 
knee  against  the  giant's  breast,  he  exerted  all  his  strength 
and  snapped  the  dislocated  bones  into  position. 

Not  a  muscle  of  Ogula's  stolid  face  moved,  although 
the  pain  must  have  been  intense. 

The  arm  was  placed  in  bamboo  splints  and  securely 
bound  with  bush  rope. 

No  thanks  came  the  second  time  from  the  great  Ogula, 
nor  from  Nkombi  Kakhi,  hisi  brother. 

"  Them  arm,  how  him  break  ?  "  Huntingdon  asked  of 
Ogula. 

"  When  master  go  for  shoot  elephants,  me,  Ogula, 
here  something  for  back.  I  fear  leopard.  I  fear  um 
jump  for  white  man  and  chop  him.  Me,  Ogula,  brud- 
der  to  Nkombi  Kakhi,  no  see  cat  for  ground.  For  top 
I  look  um.  Me,  Ogula,  brudder  for  Nkombi  Kakhi,  fall 
for  ground.  Arm  he  come  hard  and  mek  so.  Fear  no 
live  for  Ogula.  Fear  only  live  for  um  master,  King 

i  Thanks,  very  much,  thanks,  great  thanks  I 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Huntingdon.  Them  cat  he  come.  Me,  Ogula,  I  wait. 
My  brudder,  Nkombi  Kakhi,  he  live.  Me,  Ogula,  and 
him  brudder,  Nkombi  Kakhi,  look  them  cat  for  eye. 
Um  come,  me,  Ogula  and  Nkombi  Kakhi,  him  brudder, 
mek  so,"  and  Ogula  leaped  to  one  side. 

"  Nkombi  Kakhi  be  proper  brother  for  Ogula,  the 
shootman,"  said  Huntingdon,  admiration  in  his  tones. 

"  Aye,"  grunted  the  savage. 

"  And  you,  Nkombi  Kakhi,  how  you  look  1  them  leop 
ard?  " 

"  Me !  "  and  Nkombi  Kakhi  arose  to  his  full  height. 
He  acted  his  words,  vividly,  dramatically.  "  After 
them  njogo  2  kill  spear  for  Nkombi  Kakhi,  um  wonder 
for  um  head  why  them  gun  of  um  brudder  Ogula,  never 
mek  noise?  Um  hear  someone  come  for  ground.  Um 
fear  for  um  brudder,  Ogula,  the  shootman.  Um  creep 
forward,  softly,  softly  —  so.  Um  see  all  t'ing  for  um 
eye.  Um  brudder,  Ogula,  the  shootman.  Them  cat. 
Them  cat  um  eye  look  them  eye  of  my  brudder.  Me, 
I  savvy  what  them  cat  t'ink.  Me,  I  go  softly,  softly, 
so.  Me,  I  stan'  by  my  brudder,  Ogula,  the  shootman. 
Me,  Nkombi  Kakhi,  I  fear  only  for  my  brudder.  Them 
cat  he  come,  so  —  me  an'  my  brudder  mek  —  so  — 
Master,  um  gun  speak.  Palaver  finish !  " 

The  simple,  dramatic  recital  thrilled  the  white  man 
through  and  through. 

Such  courage,  such  sublime  indifference  to  death,  such 
confidence  in  their  own  powers !  Civilization  knows 
nothing  beyond ! 

Huntingdon    was    awed    into    silence,    then    weakness 

1  Look  is  always  used  for  tee. 

2  Elephant. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  223 

came  o'er  him,  the  weakness  of  fear,  from  which  Ogula, 
the  shootman,  aroused  him. 

"  Master,  night  he  ketch.  Must  tek  walk  for  Chief 
Ragundo's  town." 

But  it  was  too  dark  to  proceed  through  the  bush  with 
out  a  light. 

Nkombi  Kakhi  stripped  great  pieces  of  bark  from 
trees  rich  with  rosin,  and,  carrying  a  lighted  torch  in 
each  hand,  he  led  the  way. 

Their  incense  was  a  relief  from  the  jungle's  dank 
breath,  and  Huntingdon  inhaled  great  draughts  of  it. 

The  rest  of  the  hunting  party  was  found  seated  in 
silence  where  Ogula  bade  them  remain. 

At  sight  of  the  wounded  men,  they  commenced  to 
jabber  excitedly,  but  with  a  gesture  Nkombi  Kakhi 
silenced  them. 

More  bush-lights  were  procured,  and  the  march  was 
made  to  Chief  Ragundo's  town,  where  great  prepara 
tions  had  been  made  to  welcome  the  Great  White  King. 

In  the  center  of  the  common  and  only  street  of  the 
town,  the  reception  took  place. 

Huge  fires  leaped  high  into  space,  casting  a  romantic, 
softening  glow  over  sordid  surroundings  of  dirt  and 
squalor. 

Chief  Ragundo  was  tall,  stately  and  dignified. 
Royally  he  carried  his  ridiculous  clothing,  an  old  cloth, 
a  flannelet  nightshirt  and  a  ragged  straw  hat,  and  in 
his  right  hand  he  bore  a  carved  ebony  staff,  the  sign 
of  his  rank. 

He  saluted  the  white  man  gravely,  while  his  people  fell 
on  one  knee,  laid  their  right  hands  on  their  heads,  then 
on  their  breasts,  acknowledging  allegiance  and  render- 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

ing  homage  to  the  Great  White  King.  Such  honor  had 
not  been  accorded  a  white  man  in  many  a  year. 

Huntingdon  was  seated  on  a  camp  chair  before  a 
blazing  fire,  on  the  smoke  side.  Smoke  keeps  away 
mosquitoes. 

Chief  Ragundo  solemnly  seated  himself  upon  a  crude 
ebony  stool,  facing  Huntingdon. 

The  quiet  dignity  of  the  old  chief  and  the  silent,  re 
spectful  attitude  of  his  people  pleased  Huntingdon  and 
impressed  him.  A  visit  to  one  of  the  civilized  courts 
of  Europe  could  not  have  been  more  solemn  or  cere 
monious,  and  Huntingdon's  manner  towards  the  negro 
chief  was  that  which  he  would  have  employed  before  his 
own  sovereign,  save  that  he  would  have  remained 
standing. 

But  what  Huntingdon  was  not  aware  of  was  the  im 
posing  figure  he  himself  presented  in  the  full  light  of 
the  brilliant  fire,  at  ease  and  self-confident,  surrounded 
by  black,  nude  savages,  whose  stolid  countenances 
masked  their  admiration  of  him  and  their  delight  at 
having  honored  their  town  with  his  presence. 

A  slave  brought  forth  gifts  for  the  white  man  and 
laid  them  at  his  feet.  They  consisted  of  plantains, 
chickens,  manioc,  bottles  of  palm-oil,  bunches  of  palm- 
nuts  and  hand-woven  mats. 

The  oldest  son  of  the  chief  acted  as  spokesman.  His 
cloth  was  spun  from  pineapple  fiber  and  over  his  left 
shoulder  was  carelessly  thrown  a  white  tunic,  adding 
majesty  to  his  tall,  slender  form. 

Between  Chief  Ragundo  and  the  white  man  and  in 
front  of  the  encircling  savages  he  took  up  his  stand ;  he 
gazed  into  the  face  of  the  white  man  for  a  full  minute, 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  225 

then  amidst  solemn  silence  and  in  the  Ouroungo  dialect, 
he  spoke  slowly  and  impressively,  after  the  manner  of  the 
savage,  using  appropriate  and  eloquent  gestures. 

"  Ragundo,  the  Great  Chief  of  the  Ouroungoes,  and 
all  his  peeples,  bade  welcome  the  Great  White  King 
Huntingdon  and  all  his  people.  The  black  man  was 
always  friend  to  the  English,  and  the  English  had  al 
ways  treated  the  black  man  proper,  proper.  The  Ou 
roungoes  had  no  love  in  their  hearts  for  the  French. 
They  do  not  understand  the  mouth  l  of  the  French.  But 
many  Ouroungoes  spoke  mouth  of  the  English. 

"  Ragundo,  the  Great  Chief  of  the  Ouroungoes, 
looked  shame  from  the  bottom  of  his  heart  that  he  had 
not  more  or  richer  gifts  for  the  Great  White  King 
Huntingdon.  But,  alas,  the  French  had  recently  raided 
his  town  for  neppo  2  and  stolen  everything  he  had  not 
had  a  chance  to  hide. 

"  The  plantain,  manioc  and  palm-nuts  were  for  the 
men  of  the  Great  White  King  Huntingdon.  The  chick 
ens,  the  palm-oil  and  the  mats  were  for  the  Great  White 
King  himself. 

"  Ragundo,  the  Great  Chief  of  the  Ouroungoes,  and 
all  him  peeples,  would  never  make  war  palaver  with  the 
Great  White  King  and  him  peeples  the  English.  All 
would  dwell  in  peace,  as  brothers." 

The  spokesman  stopped  and  turned  to  Ngumbe,  who 
stood  just  behind  his  master's  chair. 

It  was  Ngumbe's  duty  to  interpret. 

'Midst  solemn  silence,  Ngumbe,  fully  appreciating 
the  occasion  and  the  honor  vested  in  him,  advanced 
slowly  and  with  great  dignity  until  he  was  directly  in 
i  Language.  2  Taxes. 


226  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

front  of  his  master  on  a  line  with  the  spokesman,  then, 
gazing  steadily  into  the  white  man's  face,  in  pidgin 
English,  he  translated  slowly  and  accurately. 

As  Ngumbe  finished,  all  eyes  were  focused  upon  the 
white  man.  It  was  his  turn  to  make  answer. 

Directly  addressing  Ngumbe,  and  in  pidgin  English, 
Huntingdon  spoke  slowly  and  solemnly  and  in  the  third 
person,  as  the  savage  had  done. 

"  Huntingdon,  the  Great  White  King,  was  pleased  to 
look  Ragundo,  the  Great  Chief  of  the  Ouroungoes,  him 
town  and  him  peoples. 

"  Huntingdon,  the  Great  White  King,  thanked  Ra 
gundo,  the  Great  Chief  of  the  Ouroungoes,  for  the  gifts 
presented  unto  him  and  his  men. 

"  Huntingdon,  the  Great  White  King,  had  brought 
gifts,  proper  gifts,  for  Ragundo,  the  Great  Chief  of  the 
Ouroungoes,  and  him  peoples.  There  were  cloth,  rum, 
tobacco,  clay  pipes,  matches  and  a  great  bag  of  salt. 
Besides,  there  was  elephant  meat,  just  killed. 

"  Huntingdon,  the  Great  White  King,  was  glad  to 
know  that  Ragundo,  the  Great  Chief  of  the  Ouroungoes, 
and  him  peoples,  were  his  friends,  his  brothers. 

"  Huntingdon,  the  Great  White  King,  appreciated  to 
the  bottom  of  him  heart  the  great  welcome  accorded  him. 
He  regretted  to  the  bottom  of  him  heart  that  sunup  on 
next  day  must  find  him  on  the  return  march  to  him  fac 
tory,  where  plenty  work-palaver  live  for  him  to  attend 
to.  But  some  time  again  Huntingdon,  the  Great  White 
King,  would  take  walk  to  the  town  of  Ragundo,  the 
Great  Chief  of  the  Ouroungoes. 

"  Huntingdon,  the  Great  White  King,  would  always 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  227 

be  a  friend  to  Ragundo,  the  Great  Chief  of  the  Ouroun- 
goes,  and  there  would  never  be  any  fight-palaver  between 
them." 

Again  solemn  silence. 

Again  Ngumbe  solemnly  stepped  forth  and,  directly 
addressing  Chief  Ragundo  in  the  Ouroungo  tongue  he 
interpreted  his  master's  speech. 

Through  his  son,  the  chief  thanked  the  white  man 
and  again  Ngumbe  interpreted. 

Then  Mbega  brought  forth  the  white  man's  gifts  and 
laid  them  at  the  feet  of  Chief  Ragundo. 

No  smile,  no  expression  of  appreciation  broke  over 
the  countenance  of  the  old  chief,  although  the  gifts  were 
the  greatest  he  had  ever  received. 

He  spoke  long  and  impressively,  not  to  his  son,  as  he 
had  done  before,  but  to  Ngumbe. 

Again,  as  befitting  a  state  interpreter,  Ngumb£  trans 
lated  slowly  and  solemnly. 

"  Ragundo,  the  Great  Chief  of  the  Ouroungoes,  look 
joy  for  him  heart  because  of  the  gifts  mpolo  of  the 
Great  White  King  Huntingdon. 

"  But  Ragundo,  the  Great  Chief  of  the  Ouroungoes, 
was  poor,  very,  very  poor.  So  were  him  peeples.  Un 
less  the  Great  White  King  Huntingdon  gave  him  three 
francs  argent  with  which  to  pay  his  neppo  to  the 
French  government,  Ragundo,  the  Great  Chief  of  the 
Ouroungoes,  must  suffer  the  ignominy  of  arrest  and  im 
prisonment! 

"  If  such  calamity  should  happen,  Ragundo,  the 
Great  Chief  of  the  Ouroungoes,  would  forever  look 
shame  before  the  eyes  of  him  peeples !  " 


228  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

The  sublime  and  the  ridiculous ;  tragedy  and  opera 
bouffe!  But  not  so  much  as  a  wink  of  an  eyelash  be 
trayed  Huntingdon's  humor. 

Through  Ngumbe,  he  made  fitting  answer. 

"  Huntingdon,  the  Great  White  King,  would  not  only 
pay  the  yearly  neppo  of  the  great  and  illustrious  Chief 
of  the  Ouroungoes,  but  of  every  male  in  his  town !  " 

The  offer  was  received  in  a  manner  worthy  of  its 
munificence. 

The  old  chief  bowed  his  head  and  his  people  drew 
nearer.  The  white  man's  generosity  was  the  greatest 
they  had  ever  experienced,  and  his  wealth  must  be  the 
wealth  of  the  whole  world.  Thus  Huntingdon's  fame 
expanded  into  awe. 

There  were  exactly  eleven  men  in  the  town  subject  to 
taxation.  Huntingdon's  munificence  represented  thirty- 
three  francs  in  cash !  Nothing  at  all  to  the  white  man, 
but  it  saved  eleven  freeborn  natives  the  ignominy  of 
arrest  and  imprisonment  by  an  alien  government  for  the 
nonpayment  of  taxes ! 

The  palaver  was  slow  and  tedious,  but  neither  by 
sign  nor  gesture  did  Huntingdon  betray  his  weariness. 
The  events  of  the  day  had  been  very  stirring ;  Hunting 
don  was  hungry  and  dreadfully  fatigued.  He  wished 
to  retire,  to  get  off  his  clothing,  to  stretch  out  at  full 
length,  but  he  did  not  know  how  to  end  the  palaver  and 
he  would  not  for  anything  offend  the  Ouroungoes. 

The  mother  of  Chief  Ragundo  advanced.  She  was 
so  old  and  shriveled  that  her  skin  hung  from  her  bones  ; 
her  face  was  that  of  a  cadaver,  her  hands  and  feet  were 
claws,  her  breasts  were  dried  and  wrinkled  like  old  fruit 
and  between  her  toothless  gums  was  a  clay  pipe. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  229 

In  silence  she  proffered  something  done  up  in  a  dried 
plantain  leaf,  securely  tied  with  bush  rope. 

Solemnly  Ngumbe  removed  the  wrapping  and  dis 
closed  —  an  egg ! 

It  might  have  been  the  Kohinoor  diamond,  so  majes 
tically  were  the  Great  White  King's  thanks  tendered  by 
the  important  Ngumbe,  accompanied  by  two  heads  of 
tobacco. 

The  old  woman  stared  at  such  prodigality,  then,  grab 
bing  the  tobacco,  without  a  word,  she  fled  into  the  dark 
ness. 

"What  next?"  was  Huntingdon's  weary  conjecture. 

But  relief  was  at  hand. 

Makaya  unceremoniously  announced  chop! 

Jabbering  and  gesticulating,  the  natives  drew  away. 

Huntingdon  enjoyed  his  supper  alone.  It  was  served 
on  a  folding  table,  under  the  extended  grass-mat  roof 
of  a  house  set  off  by  itself  and  especially  cleansed  for 
him. 

From  empty  bottles  bush-lights  spluttered,  lighting 
his  table  and  breathing  subtle  soothing  incense  on  Hunt 
ingdon's  tired  nerves.  Then  to  his  nostrils  was  wafted 
the  appetizing  odor  of  roasting  beef,  which,  about  three 
hundred  feet  away,  was  arranged  on  huge  racks  ingeni 
ously  constructed  from  green  wood  over  blazing  fires. 

In  picturesque  abandon,  the  natives  sat  or  lay  on 
the  ground,  their  voices  mingling  with  the  crackling 
of  the  firewood,  their  minds  intent  on  the  approaching 
feast. 

O'er  men  and  children  was  the  charm  of  the  equatorial 
tropical  night,  of  Africa,  of  the  fire's  soft  glow.  In 
the  heavens  the  moon  was  so  white  and  big  and  brilliant 


230  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

that  other  planets  of  the  first  magnitude  were  completely 
blotted  out. 

Just  beyond  the  town  was  the  dense  bush,  from  whose 
mysterious  depths,  now  and  then,  came  the  protests  of 
its  denizens,  angry  because  fire,  a  more  potent  beast 
than  they,  curtailed  their  roaming. 

Oh,  the  witchery  of  it  all ;  the  romance !  They 
opened  the  flood-gates  of  Huntingdon's  very  soul  and 
he  surrendered  unto  them.  He  was  a  white  man,  alone, 
thousands  of  miles  from  the  land  that  gave  him  birth, 
surrounded  by  wild  beasts  and  venomous  serpents ;  by 
untrammelled  space ;  by  great  stretches  of  solemn 
silences;  by  forests,  jungles,  plains,  savannahs;  by  sav 
ages,  who  feared,  served  and  protected  where  they  could 
have  braved,  commanded  and  destroyed! 

Strange,  indeed,  this  thing:  this  dominance  of  the 
white  complexion  over  those  of  darker  hues !  Strange, 
indeed,  the  tranquillity  of  the  white  man  in  an  environ 
ment  hostile  to  him  in  every  way ! 

Then  came  the  memory  of  the  day's  hunt,  almost  in 
credible  in  its  events.  Brave  Ogula,  the  shootman,  and 
Nkombi  Kakhi,  his  brother !  They  should  never  want  as 
long  as  Huntingdon  lived,  for  to  them  he  owed  his  lif e ; 
and  some  day,  when  he  had  finished  with  Africa,  he 
would  relate  it  all  to  Marjorie.  He  foresaw  the  sym 
pathy  in  her  expressive  eyes,  he  felt  the  pressure  of  her 
magnetic  fingers. 

A  shout  arose  from  the  fires. 

The  meat  was  roasted. 

In  friendly  groups  the  natives  sat  about  eating  it. 

The  world  was  merry  with  feasting  and  the  music  of 
happy  voices ;  the  fires  died  down  and  fair  Diane  ruled 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  231 

supreme.  The  night  was  as  bright  as  day,  the  shadows 
sharply  defined  as  in  sunlight  time. 

Suddenly,  out  of  the  bush,  there  rolled  the  long  notes 
of  a  lion's  roar. 

It  vibrated  through  the  shadowy  bush,  it  o'erleaped 
the  babel  of  tongues  and  smote  the  ear  of  the  white  man. 
He  seemed  to  be  the  only  one  who  heard  it.  It  thrilled 
him  beyond  expression. 

His  eyes  tried  to  pierce  the  dense  shadows  from 
whence  the  sounds  rolled.  He  pictured  the  tawny,  lean 
lion,  the  King  of  Beasts,  his  head  thrown  back,  his  mouth 
open,  his  mighty  lungs  forcing  the  air  through  his 
mighty  throat ! 

Again  the  roar!  It  was  a  succession  of  sonorous 
wave  sounds  coming  nearer  and  nearer,  gaining  in 
volume  and  strength  until  the  very  earth  vibrated  beneath 
them. 

Such  full,  round  notes  Huntingdon  had  never  heard 
in  all  his  life.  He  had  heard  lions  roar  in  menageries, 
but  the  sound  was  not  the  same.  No  wild  beast  is  the 
same  in  captivity.  He  is  artificial,  like  his  imprison 
ment. 

The  roar  was  near  at  hand,  at  Huntingdon's  rear. 

He  turned,  expecting  to  see  the  beast  advance  into 
the  open. 

No  fear  was  the  white  man's.  The  King  of  Beasts 
is  worthy  of  his  title.  He  attacks  only  when  he  fears 
attack. 

Suddenly  the  roar  came  from  another  direction.  It 
was  farther  away ;  it  rolled  into  dense  space,  then  died 
out.  Was  the  lion  uttering  his  defiance  at  the  intrusion 
of  man,  or  was  he  simply  calling  his  mate? 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

The  bush  became  strangely  silent  and  empty.  Hunt 
ingdon  was  sorry.  He  would  have  liked  the  roaring  to 
continue  indefinitely. 

The  babel  among  the  natives  had  ceased. 

They  were  grouped  closer  together. 

Then  the  night  breeze  brought  a  low  voice  to  Hunt 
ingdon's  ear. 

'Twas  that  of  Nkombi  Kakhi. 

What  he  said,  the  white  man  could  not  interpret,  for 
he  spoke  in  the  Ouroungo  tongue.  But  whatever  the 
bushnum's  tale,  it  was  listened  to  in  solemn  silence. 

Nkombi  Kakhi  was  minutely  retailing  and  pantomim 
ing  the  adventures  of  the  day. 

It  was  Huntingdon,  the  Great  White  King,  who 
strangled  the  leopard  with  his  slim  white  hands  ! 

It  was  he  who  had  killed  two  elephants  with  one  shot ! 

It  was  he  who  had  dispatched  the  ready-to-spring 
cobra ! 

It  was  he  who  had  set  the  broken  shoulder  of  Ogula, 
the  giant  shootman ! 

It  was  he  who  put  magic  on  the  wounds  of  Nkombi 
Kakhi,  and  Nkombi  Kakhi  declared  he  already  felt  the 
healing  of  the  hurt ! 

The  adventures  were  an  hour  in  the  telling.  But  no 
one  interrupted.  Chief  Ragundo  was  as  interested  as 
were  his  people.  So  were  Mbega,  Makaya,  Ngumbe 
and  the  others  who  were  not  with  the  white  man  when 
the  stirring  events  were  happening. 

The  silence  after  their  recital  endured  for  a  full  mo 
ment. 

"  Aye,  it  be  so,"  then  grunted  Ogula,  the  shootman ! 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  233 

Huntingdon  knew  nothing  of  the  additional  fame 
thrust  upon  him,  and  when,  like  a  great  shade,  Chief 
Ragundo  arose  before  him  and  muttered  solemnly : 

"  Otangani,  Mpolo  Tata,  Mpolo  Tata,"  1  Hunting 
don  wondered  what  it  was  all  about. 

Suiting  his  tones  to  the  old  savage's,  he  as  gravely 
responded : 

"  Ragundo,  Mpolo  Tata,  Mpolo  Tata." 

Again  the  chief  summoned  his  people,  and  an  enor 
mous  tam-tam  was  presented  to  the  white  man.  The 
drum  was  a  log  fully  ten  feet  long,  smoke-grimed  and 
blackened  with  age.  It  was  only  partly  hollow  with  a 
narrow,  oblong  slit  in  the  side.  Two  men  seated  them 
selves  on  the  ground  and  resting  the  drum  horizontally 
on  their  extended  feet,  they  beat  upon  the  aperture 
with  rounded,  heavy  sticks,  causing  a  deep  sound  to 
come  forth,  which  Ngumbe  declared  could  be  heard  a 
distance  of  twenty-five  miles  ! 

"  It  be  so,  Master,"  corroborated  Nkombi  Kakhi. 
"  Him  speak  from  one  bush  town  to  another ;  him  tell 
when  Frenchmans  come  to  make  thief-palaver  for  we 
peeples." 

Two  other  gifts  followed:  an  ebony  stool  and  an  im 
mense  clay  pipe,  both  crudely  carved.  As  specimens 
of  native  handiwork,  the  gifts  were  unique  and  exceed 
ingly  interesting. 

But  Huntingdon  never  betrayed  his  interest. 
"  Awalca  "  was  all  he  said. 

"  Aye,"  grunted  Ragundo  in  response. 

The  fires  were  replenished  and  the  festivities  began. 
1  White  man,  great  king,  great  king. 


234  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Huntingdon  watched  the  dance  until  the  rum  and 
mimbo  entered  the  heads  of  the  performers.  Then,  un 
noticed,  he  retired  to  his  quarters. 

His  camp  bed  and  mosquito  bar  had  been  set  up  in 
the  fetish  house,  from  which  everything  had  been  re 
moved  except  several  fetishes  and  some  huge  grass  mats, 
which  hung  on  the  horizontal  Avails  of  bamboo.  Hunt 
ingdon  closely  examined  the  fetishes  and  discovered 
them  to  be  red  parrot  feathers,  tied  together  with 
plaited  fiber;  others  were  round  disks  of  something  dark 
and  soft  like  putty,  in  which  were  embedded  red  berries, 
hard  and  lustrous.  The  mats  were  marvels  of  coloring 
and  perfect  weaving.  The  mesh  was  very  fine ;  the 
background  was  pale  golden  and  through  it  ran  a 
shadow  design  of  tomato-red  squares,  while  the  edges 
were  finished  with  short,  fine  fringe  of  tomato-red  and 
deep  yellow.  Huntingdon  wondered  what  they  were 
used  for,  and  longed  to  possess  them. 

Huntingdon  had  scarcely  tucked  the  mosquito  bar 
under  him,  when  Ngumbe  entered,  followed  by  a  bush- 
girl. 

Not  even  when  he  acted  as  interpreter  did  Ngumbe 
carry  himself  with  such  pomp.  He  was  the  bearer  of 
a  great  gift  from  Chief  Ragundo.  Moreover,  he  knew 
his  master  had  not  yet  accepted  a  native  wife  and  he 
was  proud  to  be  her  escort ! 

"  The  deuce !  "  muttered  Huntingdon. 

He  couldn't  insult  his  host  by  sending  the  girl  back. 
He  wouldn't  insult  Marjorie,  his  beloved,  by  accepting 
her.  When  he  promised  to  be  true,  he  meant  it.  The 
men  of  his  race  never  broke  their  word.  On  the  other 
hand,  black  women  were  disgusting  to  him.  He  knew 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  235 

none  of  them  were  virgins ;  none  of  them  were  cleanly. 
But,  everything  else  aside,  to  share  a  negress  with  a 
black  man  was  something  he  could  not  do ! 

"  Ngumbe,  say  akawa  to  Ragundo,  Great  Chief  of  the 
Ouroungoes.  King  Huntingdon  appreciates  his  great 
gift."  ' 

Huntingdon  couldn't  see  what  the  girl  looked  like. 
The  hut  was  lighted  only  by  the  fires  which  gleamed 
through  the  bamboo  splits,  causing  her  and  Ngumbe  to 
loom  up  like  great  shades.  But  Huntingdon  knew  she 
would,  of  course,  be  young  and  desirable.  The  chief 
would  send  him  none  other. 

"  Him  be  daughter  for  Chief  Ragundo,"  said 
Ngumbe. 

"  All  right.      Good  night,  Ngumbe.     Lef  um  here." 

What  was  Huntingdon  to  do  with  the  girl? 

She  remained  standing  in  the  shadows. 

Treat  'em  all  like  dogs,  or  they'll  get  the  best  of  you, 

Old  Wallace's  warning  leaped  suddenly  through 
Huntingdon's  brain. 

Huntingdon  smiled.  The  warning  wasn't  necessary. 
He  knew  his  own  strength.  No  black  woman  could 
tempt  him ! 

But  what  was  he  to  do  with  the  girl? 

To  his  great  surprise,  she  addressed  him  in  English. 

"  Master  Huntingdon,  I  look  you." 

Pier  voice  was  young,  liquid  and  soft. 

"  Come  here  !  " 

She  came  to  his  bedside.  She  stood  between  him  and 
the  light.  Her  body  was  sharply  outlined.  It  was 
slender.  The  hips  curved  ever  so  slightly  and  she  wore 
only  a  scant  loin  cloth. 


236  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

She  had  evidently  been  brought  up  at  a  mission.  She 
would  know  something  of  the  ways  of  the  white  man. 
He  would  feign  sickness. 

"  What's  your  name?  " 

"  E-lin-da." 

"  E-lin-da,  you  savvy  when  white  man  be  sick?  ' 

"For  belly?" 

The  banal  word  grated  on  Huntingdon. 

"  Yes." 

"  You  tek  medceen?  " 

"  Yes." 

Huntingdon  drank  a  great  draught  of  brandy.  He 
was  sparring  for  time,  wondering  what  to  do  next. 

Again  the  girl  spoke : 

"  You  marry  me  ?  " 

What  was  he  to  do  ? 

"  I  fit  marry  you  for  two  francs,"  she  added. 

She  was  certainly  not  slow  about  her  wooing. 

"  I  fit  —  when  belly  ketch  well  again." 

The  girl  was  silent. 

Huntingdon  felt  her  sullenness. 

But  he  would  soon  banish  that. 

"  E-lin-da,  you  want  fine  cloth  and  fine  kerchief ;  fine 
past  all  Ouroungo  women?  " 

"  I  want,"  answered  the  girl,  quickly  and  eagerly. 

Huntingdon  knew  how  to  handle  her  now. 

"  When  day  ketch,  King  Huntingdon  fit  for  dash 
E-lin-da  something  fine  pas'  all  Ouroungo  women. 
Take  them  mat,"  and  Huntingdon  indicated  those  given 
him  by  the  old  chief,  "  put  them  for  ground  and  go  to 
sleep,  one  time.  Proper  morning  I  fit  for  give  you  them 
t'ings." 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  237 

"  And  you  never  marry  me?  " 

"  When  —  skin  him  ketch  proper  well." 

He  couldn't  bring  himself  to  again  use  that  awful 
word. 

She  stretched  herself  on  the  ground  at  his  feet. 

Without,  the  fires  still  blazed.  The  natives  were 
proper  drunk.  Pandemonium  reigned  supreme,  but 
Huntingdon  slept  the  sleep  of  exhaustion. 

In  the  morning,  he  awoke  before  the  girl. 

Quietly,  he  arose  and  from  a  trunk  he  took  a  gorgeous 
yellow  and  purple  silk  handkerchief  and  a  cloth  woven 
in  Europe  especially  for  Africa.  Its  background  was 
a  rich,  dark  green  and  in  the  center  there  was  a  huge 
peacock  of  brilliant  yellow.  The  border  was  a  conven 
tional  scroll  design  in  crimson.  The  clash  of  colors 
offended  the  white  man,  but  when  he  awakened  the  girl 
and  her  eyes  fell  upon  the  gifts,  they  lighted  up  with 
pleasure,  and  she  eagerly  possessed  herself  of  them. 

Over  her  old  cloth  she  wrapped  the  new  one,  then, 
before  his  shaving  glass,  which  Huntingdon  held  for 
her,  she  arranged  the  kerchief  into  an  oblong  turban, 
pulling  it  low  on  her  forehead.  It  was  very  becoming 
to  the  shape  of  her  face  and  her  ebony  skin,  and  the 
brilliant  cloth  effectively  outlined  her  sinuous,  youthful 
figure.  She  was  good  to  look  upon,  as  she  smiled  her 
pleasure,  showing  perfect,  small,  white  teeth. 

Huntingdon  added  two  francs  to  his  gifts. 

The  girl  was  eager  to  show  off  her  finery,  and  left 
without  a  word  of  thanks. 

What  a  relief! 

Huntingdon  hoped,  for  old  Chief  Ragundo's  sake,  she 
would  remember  only  the  gifts. 


238  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Ngumbe  entered.  He  was  wreathed  in  insinuating 
smiles. 

Huntingdon  appeared  not  to  notice  them. 

Mkaya,  too,  grinned,  when  he  served  early  coffee. 

Huntingdon  was  delighted.  Perhaps  now  they  would 
let  him  alone  on  woman-palaver. 

But  it  was  not  to  be  so. 

As  he  was  leaving  the  town,  through  Ngumbe,  Ra- 
gundo  demanded  if  the  white  man  did  not  want  to  take 
his  daughter  home  with  him? 

Huntingdon  had  to  acquiesce. 

She  joined  his  caravan. 

With  envy,  the  other  women  watched  her  go.  She 
strutted  like  a  peacock  rigged  out  in  her  new,  gaudy 
finery. 

The  greatest  honor  possible  had  come  to  her.  She 
was  to  be  the  wife  of  Huntingdon,  the  Great  White 
King! 

Huntingdon  swore  —  beneath  his  breath  —  and  won 
dered  how  he'd  get  out  of  the  contretemps, 

He  knew  it  would  take  tact  —  diplomacy  of  the  finest 
kind.  If  the  worst  came,  he'd  buy  her  of  her  father 
and  ship  her  north  on  an  English  boat  to  Morrison. 
He  preferred  to  send  her  to  Captain  Haywood,  but  his 
whereabouts  were  constantly  changing.  As  for  Long- 
worthy,  the  girl  would  be  stolen  e'er  she  got  up  the 
Niger  to  his  station.  Wallace?  It  would  be  a  joke  on 
the  old  coaster  —  but  cruelty  to  the  girl.  If  Wallace 
received  her  —  which  was  not  likely  —  his  present  wife 
might  poison  her.  Morrison  would  welcome  her;  the 
Captain  of  the  steamer  would  deliver  her  safely  into  his 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  239 

hands  and  Morrison  could  dispose  of  her  to  his  ad 
vantage. 

But  Huntingdon  bothered  himself  for  naught.  At 
Cape  Lopez  the  girl  disappeared  for  over  a  week. 
Huntingdon  finally  saw  her  with  Makaya.  Makaya's 
charms  had  won  her. 

Huntingdon  was  so  relieved  that  he  dashed  every  one 
of  his  hands  an  extra  supply  of  rum  and  tobacco. 

But  his  troubles  with  women  were  just  beginning. 

Daily  he  was  pestered.  It  was  known  that  Makaya 
had  Chief  Ragundo's  daughter.  It  was  gossip  that  the 
white  man  had  given  her  to  the  Loango  out  of  appre 
ciation  for  the  latter's  fine  cooking! 

Again,  the  women  brought  by  different  chiefs  were  of 
all  types:  the  immature,  the  budding,  the  full-blown. 
Their  complexions  blended  from  the  soft  cafe  au  lait  of 
the  half-caste,  to  the  rich  ebony  of  the  negro. 

Their  prices  varied  from  $3.00  to  $5.00  a  month  each, 
to  be  paid  to  their  owners,  with  food  and  scant  raiment 
for  the  woman. 

The  half-caste  had  been  wife  to  a  score  of  white  men, 
either  dead,  or  returned  to  Europe.  She  prided  herself 
on  it,  and  she  was  universally  envied  by  the  other  women. 

Disgust  prompted  Huntingdon  to  throw  chiefs  and 
the  women  out.  But  he  remembered  Smithson's  advice. 

He  affected  dissatisfaction. 

The  result  was  that  he  was  continually  importuned. 
But  he  was  so  liberal  with  gifts,  that  chiefs  and  women 
went  away  pleased.  They  saw  only  the  gifts. 

"  You're  new,  Monsieur  Huntingdon,"  shrugged  Le- 
Blanc,  the  French  trader.  "  Wait  until  you're  out 


240  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

longer,  until  Africa  gets  you,  you  won't  be  so  finicky. 
You'll  do  as  we  do,  not  only  hire  the  woman,  but  hire 
a  guard  to  keep  her  from  sneaking  away  with  your  cook, 
or  houseboy,  or  her  husband  or  owner.  These  women 
are  not  to  blame  for  what  they  are.  They  know  no 
better.  They  are  unmoral,  not  immoral.  They  are 
merchandise  to  be  realized  upon.  The  natives  have  no 
domestic  animals,  lands  or  other  sources  of  revenue. 
They  have  only  their  women.  The  men  buy  as  many 
wives  as  they  can.  They  desire  children  —  females. 
In  many  parts  of  the  country  childless  women  are  put 
to  death.  A  girl  is  sold  in  marriage  almost  at  her  birth. 
When  she  grows  to  maturity,  she  is  let  out,  just  as  one 
hires  out  any  sort  of  servant  —  or  animal.  A  woman 
daren't  take  a  lover  of  her  own  choosing  and  give  her 
self  to  him.  Discovery  means  severe  punishment  to 
herself,  and  mutilation,  perhaps  death,  to  her  paramour. 
Woman  is  always  for  sale,  never  given  away.  A 
native  will  give  away  everything  he  possesses,  except 
his  women.  Princesses  and  slaves  are  in  the  same  boat: 
a  source  of  revenue  to  their  owners." 

"  Queer  customs  these  beggars  have,"  commented 
Huntingdon. 

"  As  for  a  white  man,"  continued  LeBlanc,  "  no  mat 
ter  how  low  in  the  social  scale  he  may  be  in  civilization, 
here,  in  Africa,  he  is  a  superior  being.  To  be  his  mis 
tress,  brings  everlasting  fame  to  a  black  woman.  They 
trade  on  it.  What  is  a  chief's  first  remark  when  he 
brings  forth  his  women  ?  '  She  be  all  right.  She  savvy 
white  man  palaver.  She  was  wife  to  So-and-so  and 
So-and-so.  She  never  born'd  pickins  —  she  savvy  white 
man  palaver,  plenty  plenty.'  ' 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  241 

Huntingdon  fidgeted  impatiently. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you?  "  cried  the  French 
man,  keenly  alive  to  Huntingdon's  disgust.  "  I'm  only 
telling  you  the  custom  of  the  country.  I'm  not  re 
sponsible  for  it.  Nor  did  I  fight  against  it,  as  you  are 
doing.  I  accepted  it.  I've  bought  every  black  woman 
who  took  my  fancy  —  save  one  —  and  she's  not  for  me. 
She's  Ndio,  the  Gabonaise,  mistress  to  the  Commandant. 
You've  seen  her?  " 

Huntingdon  shook  his  head.  All  native  women  looked 
alike  to  him.  He  saw  no  beauty,  attraction  in  any  of 
them. 

"  The  Gabonaise,"  went  on  the  Frenchman,  growing 
more  heated  as  he  proceeded,  "  is  as  superior  to  the 
Ouroungo  women  as  Venus  is  to  a  vegetable  vender. 
Mon  Dieu!  just  to  look  at  her  is  enough  to  send  your 
blood  through  the  top  of  your  head.  A  more  regal, 
savage,  seductive  creature  was  never  conceived.  She's 
not  an  hour  over  sixteen,  as  supple  as  a  tigress,  as 
warm-blooded  as  Venus-Aphrodite  herself.  In  her,  all 
the  elemental  passions  run  riot.  She  knows  no  law  save 
that  of  her  emotions.  Sex  calls  to  sex  the  moment  she 
and  man  meet.  Man  can  no  more  withstand  her  than 
the  blossom  will  creep  away  from  the  sunlight.  She  is 
beautiful,  magnifique!  The  one  woman  for  whom  I 
suffer,  the  only  woman  I  cannot  buy !  " 

Again,  Huntingdon's  disgust  was  so  marked,  that  the 
Frenchman  cried  furiously : 

"  Look  down  upon  and  draw  away  from  us  white  men 
all  you  will,  M'sieu  Huntingdon,  the  black  woman  will 
get  you  as  sure  as  I,  LeBlanc,  the  Frenchman,  am  talk 
ing  to  you !  You're  in  Africa  and  Africa  makes  shuttle- 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

cocks  of  white  men !  You'll  go  down  and  when  you  do, 
remember  LeBlanc ! " 

LeBlanc's  revelations  increased  Huntingdon's  dis 
gust.  It  was  bad  enough  for  a  white  man  to  cohabit 
with  a  black  woman,  but  to  wade  deeper  into  the  quag 
mire  by  placing  a  guard  over  her  that  she  might  not 
run  away  to  a  man  of  her  own  race,  was  the  lowest 
depths  of  degradation.  Huntingdon  swore  it  would 
never  come  to  him. 

October  brought  the  rains,  increased  heat  and  hordes 
of  mosquitoes  and  other  pests.  Huntingdon's  appetite 
decreased  and  he  did  not  sleep  well  at  night.  He  sought 
the  Douane  and  each  helped  the  other  to  endure  and  for 
get. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

'TWAS  the  week  before  Christmas. 

Huntingdon  surveyed  the  changes  in  his  bungalow 
with  the  keen  interest  and  delight  of  a  connoisseur. 

The  living-room  was  transformed  into  a  great  hall, 
after  the  manner  of  feudal  England. 

Everything  in  it  was  massive,  befitting  the  country 
that  gave  them  birth. 

The  old  cross-beamed  ceiling  and  rough  plank  floor 
remained.  Around  the  walls  ran  a  rough,  broad  shelf 
of  ebony,  on  which  were  specimens  of  African  handi 
crafts  :  carved  pipes  of  various  kinds  and  sizes ;  cala 
bashes  ;  hammered  brasses  ;  canoe-shovels  ;  paddles  ;  mini 
ature  canoes ;  all  sorts  of  animals  done  in  ivory  and 
ebony ;  ivory  and  ebony  hair  ornaments,  bracelets  and 
anklets. 

There  were  also  ju-ju  charms ;  tam-tams,  little  and 
big ;  knives  of  grotesque  designs ;  powder  horns ;  boxes 
of  bark ;  elephants'  tails ;  hippopotami  teeth ;  leopards' 
claws ;  birds'  nests ;  vines  interwoven  in  bizarre  forms ; 
blown  crocodile  eggs ;  skins  of  snakes,  and  a  host  of 
other  interesting  things. 

Some  of  the  idols  were  tiny,  others  large.  Some  were 
ebony,  others  of  reddish  mahogany ;  still  others  were 
soft  wood  smeared  with  red  and  white  clay.  Their  fea 
tures  and  headdress  were  that  of  Egypt.  So  far  as 
Huntingdon  was  able  to  learn,  the  Ouroungoes  did  not 

243 


244  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

worship  idols,  and  he  recalled  Smithson's  statement  that 
the  only  religion  they  had  was  that  of  superstitious,  de 
grading  fear,  and  that  their  only  priest  was  the  Nganga, 
or  witch  doctor,  an  all-powerful  creature,  tyrannous 
and  overbearing  and  universally  feared  and  bribed. 

An  immense  fireplace  and  a  chimney  of  ebony  extended 
to  the  ceiling. 

The  andirons  were  great  lions,  on  whose  backs  rested 
massive,  oaken  logs. 

The  furniture  was  of  roseate  mahogany,  highly  pol 
ished  and  exquisitely  carved  in  bold,  typical  designs. 

The  oblong  dining  table  consisted  of  two  immense 
logs  upheld  by  a  number  of  lions. 

At  either  end  was  a  chair  carved  from  one  piece  of 
wood,  representing  a  gorilla  on  his  haunches,  his  arms 
outspread. 

The  settle  along  either  side  of  the  table  was  also  up 
held  by  lions,  and  its  back-rest  was  a  broad  rail 
carved  in  centipedes,  scorpions,  frogs  and  crocodiles. 

The  sideboard  and  buffet  took  up  one  entire  side  of 
the  room.  The  doors  underneath  were  carved  with 
jungle  scenes,  and  the  plain,  massive  polished  top  made 
a  striking  background  for  the  exquisite  things  upon  it: 
drinking  cups  of  horn,  ivory,  and  ebony ;  a  punch  bowl 
of  carved  ebony,  with  handles  and  feet  of  unpolished 
ivory ;  peg  glasses  of  ivory  inlaid  with  ebony ;  a  cork 
screw  set  in  an  enormous  hippopotamus  tooth ;  a  great 
salad  spoon  and  fork  of  crudely  carved  ebony ;  and  a 
grotesque  ebony  idol  smeared  with  red  clay. 

Carved  from  one  piece  of  ebony  was  the  kneeling  fig 
ure  of  a  bushwoman,  in  all  the  grace  of  young  woman 
hood.  Her  upraised  arms  supported  a  tray  on  her 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  245 

head  and  on  it  were  a  Turkish  coffee  service,  a  nargileh, 
Turkish  tobacco  and  cigarettes. 

In  contrast  to  the  heavy  ebony  coffee  table  and  its  ap 
pointments,  was  a  delicately  carved  teak-wood  tabouret, 
with  a  tea  service  of  frail  Japanese  china ;  a  brass  kettle 
and  an  alcohol  lamp  ;  dainty,  exquisitely  carved  Japan 
ese  pipes  with  tiny,  silver-lined  bowls  ;  a  carved,  brass 
Japanese  ash  bowl,  and  a  dainty  ivory  idol.  In  them 
was  read  all  the  refinement  of  old  Japan,  juxtaposed 
with  the  crude  savagery  and  primitiveness  of  the  equator. 

The  old  lounge  was  replaced  by  a  broad  divan  of 
bamboo,  with  pillows  of  native  cotton  in  slips  of  dull- 
gold  pineapple  cloth,  and  a  magnificent  leopard  .skin 
lined  with  soft,  rich,  orange  Morocco  leather. 

The  huge  spine  of  a  sword  fish  was  mounted  on  ebony 
and  utilized  for  a  helmet  rack,  while  a  unique  gong  was 
made  of  an  exploded  brass  torpedo  shell  suspended  by 
a  thong  of  leopard's  hide  from  the  crossed  points  of  two 
unpolished  ivories  seven  feet  tall.  Their  deep,  creamy 
tint  contrasted  effectively  with  the  brass  bell,  the  clap 
per  of  which  was  a  very  odd  native  knife  with  an  ivory 
handle. 

The  walls  were  hung  with  trophies  of  the  chase, 
mounted  on  rough  blocks  of  ebony. 

Two  grinning  skulls  were  side  by  side ;  a  negro's  and 
a  gorilla's.  It  was  difficult  to  tell  them  apart. 

From  the  ceiling  beams  and  supported  by  invisible 
wires  to  give  them  the  appearance  of  flying  and  of  life 
were  white  ibis,  storks  and  cranes ;  pink  flamingoes ; 
gray  parrots  with  red  tails ;  gorgeous,  vain  peacocks ; 
a  great  blue  plantaineater,  and  an  enormous  eagle,  the 
leopard  of  the  air. 


246  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

The  tout-ensemble  was  not  set  and  conventional  as 
in  a  museum  or  other  show  place ;  it  spoke  of  intimacy, 
as  though  it  were  on  congenial  terms  with  its  master, 
and  so  it  was,  for  Huntingdon  loved  the  room  and  wrote 
minutely  about  it  to  Marjorie  and  his  mother. 

One  would  have  thought  that  this  magnificent  chamber 
would  have  appealed  to  the  savages.  But  strange  to 
say,  it  did  not.  The  savages  were  more  impressed  with 
the  fathoms  and  fathoms  of  unbleached  muslin  covering 
the  walls  and  ceilings  of  the  sleeping-rooms.  Wood 
could  be  gathered  in  the  forests,  animals  hunted  in  the 
jungles,  and  furniture  carved  and  made  by  native  car 
penters  under  the  supervision  of  the  mission,  but  fathoms 
of  trade  cloth  so  wantonly  covering  walls  and  ceilings 
represented  untold  wealth  to  the  simple  minds  of  the 
savages.  And  again  they  averred  that  the  Great  White 
King  owned  all  the  wealth  of  the  world ! 

The  side  verandas,  too,  had  undergone  a  great 
change.  Each  was  divided  into  two  compartments. 
The  rear  one  was  the  smaller  and  in  it  was  a  shower 
bath. 

The  shower  was  a  great  rubber  bag  operated  by  a 
pulley,  and  the  tub  was  the  ordinary  zinc  oval  in  gen 
eral  use  by  the  traders. 

The  other  compartment  was  fitted  up  as  a  rest-  and 
reading-room. 

Huntingdon's  was  of  course  the  more  complete  of  the 
two. 

The  furniture,  a  divan  and  several  low,  easy  chairs, 
were  imported  from  Madeira  and  were  wicker.  A  low 
tabouret  was  of  carved  African  teak.  Shelves  con- 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  247 

tained  reading  matter  of  all  descriptions,  and  there  were 
desks  of  ebony  fitted  with  writing  materials. 

Although  no  guests  other  than  little  Sadler  had  yet 
come  to  Huntingdon,  he  kept  open  house  and  he  would 
have  welcomed  any  white  man  who  emerged  from  the 
bush.  But  no  Englishmen  were  voyaging  at  that  time 
of  the  year,  and  if  there  were  any  French  or  other  na 
tionalities  en  route,  they  sought  the  bungalows  of  their 
compatriots. 

Christmas  day  the  Nigeria  was  expected. 

At  Sierra  Leone  on  the  way  out,  a  cable  reached 
Skipper  Hains,  inviting  him  and  his  officers  to  the  feast 
which  was  to  celebrate  the  completion  of  the  changes 
in  Huntingdon's  bungalow. 

Sadler  was  to  come  down  from  the  Ogowe ;  Moore 
and  the  Douane  were  invited. 

The  little  dry  season  was  on.  Ogula,  the  shootman, 
and  Nkombi  Kakhi,  his  brother,  had  bagged  game 
galore.  Besides  there  were  a  manatee-manga  weighing 
over  five  hundred  pounds ;  an  immense  turtle  and  the 
biggest  oysters  Huntingdon  ever  looked  upon. 

Sunup  Christmas  morning  found  Ogula  and  Nkombi 
Kakhi  roasting  game. 

No  white  man's  feast  ever  before  created  such  a 
furore.  From  all  directions  the  natives  came.  The 
beach  was  noisy  with  canoes,  laden  with  gifts  for  the 
whi£e  man.  Most  of  them  were  worthless  and  insignifi 
cant.  But  every  gift  was  received  in  the  proper  man 
ner  by  the  officious  Ngumbe  dressed  in  new  white  ducks, 
and  presents  of  tobacco,  salt,  matches,  clay  pipes,  beads 
and  mirrors  were  given  in  exchange. 


248  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

The  eyes  of  the  savages  glowed  big  with  such  munifi 
cence.  Again  and  again  comment  was  made  on  the  vast 
wealth  of  their  Mpolo  Tata  Otangani. 

In  the  early  morning  the  little  Oka  hove  into  sight. 
She  crossed  the  bay  at  a  high  rate  of  speed. 

Through  his  glasses  Huntingdon  discovered  Sadler, 
standing  at  the  wheel,  laughing  with  the  native  pilot. 

Huntingdon  was  at  the  beach  to  meet  him.  Both  men 
were  in  immaculate  whites. 

"  Merry  Christmas,"  called  Huntingdon  over  the 
water. 

"  Aye  !  Merry  Christmas,"  came  back  Sadler's  hearty 
response. 

"  Aye,"  answered  Huntingdon,  leaping  to  the  Oka's 
deck  and  wringing  little  Sadler's  hands. 

With  his  characteristic  boyishness,  Sadler  yelled: 

"  Sunlight,  give  them  great  White  King  the  dash  I 
bring  um." 

Sunlight  staggered  under  the  weight  of  an  immense 
tusk  of  ivory,  exquisitely  carved  from  end  to  end  in 
centipedes,  scorpions,  birds  and  beasts. 

"  If  you  thank  me  for  the  bally  thing,  Huntingdon, 
I'll  take  it  back,"  Sadler  shouted,  e'er  Huntingdon  could 
speak. 

Huntingdon  pressed  the  little  fellow's  hand,  hard. 

"  Git  the  hell  out  o'  here  with  it,"  yelled  Sadler,  push 
ing  the  giant  Sunlight  down  the  gangplank. 

Moore  came  swaggering  along,  dressed  also  in  white, 
and  swinging  a  cane. 

Sadler  sniffed  at  his  approach.  The  trade  perfume 
was  unmistakable.  But  Sadler  made  no  comment ;  he 
clasped  Moore's  hand  as  though  they  were  the  best  of 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  249 

friends  meeting  after  a  long  parting,  and  said :  "  Merry 
Christmas,  Moore." 

"  Aye,  the  same  to  you  and  Huntingdon." 

"  Aye,"  responded  Huntingdon,  "  Merry  Christmas 
and  many  of  them." 

Moore  and  Sadler  looked  over  the  bungalow.  They 
merely  glanced  into  the  bedrooms  and  the  transformed 
verandas ;  their  j  oy  was  expended  on  the  great  center 
room. 

And  it  was  magnificent  to  look  upon.  The  day  was 
clear  and  beautiful.  Not  a  cloud  was  in  the  heavens  and 
the  sunlight  showed  up  every  nook  and  corner  of  the 
room  and  every  piece  of  its  unique  and  appropriate  fur 
nishing. 

The  spinal  bone  of  the  sword  fish  attracted  Sadler. 
Moore  expressed  loud  admiration  for  the  drinking  cups 
and  punch  bowl  and  vowed  he  would  have  duplicates 
made. 

"Indeed,"  cried  little  Sadler,  "it's  nobody's  outfit 
I'll  be  a-copying.  I'll  come  down  and  enjoy  King  Hunt 
ingdon's  when  I  can  sneak  off  —  can't  I,  King?  " 

Huntingdon  smiled  affectionately. 

"  You  are  always  welcome  to  what  I've  got  —  so  are 
you,  Moore.  We're  Englishmen,  we're  aliens  — -  that's 
enough." 

Moore  had  the  good  grace  to  thank  him.  Sadler 
said  nothing  but  commenced  to  whistle: 

"  Do  you  love  me,  Mollie  Darling?  " 

The  song  took  Huntingdon  to  England.  Letters 
would  be  on  the  Nigeria  —  letters  from  Marjorie  and 
his  mother.  Gifts,  too,  but  gifts  were  secondary  to 
letters ! 


250  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

i . 

Sadler  was  striking  the  torpedo  gong,  and  its  melo 
dious  notes  were  dying  away  when  Ngumbe  cried: 

"  Master,  Nigeria  live !  " 

The  Nigeria  had  scarce  cast  anchor  when  the  three 
English  exiles  were  up  one  of  her  ladders. 

"  Oh,  ho,  me  lads,  you've  come  for  your  Christmas 
gifts.  Well,  I'm  sorry  for  ye.  They're  entrusted  to 
the  French  government  and  it's  at  the  post  office  ye'll 
have  to  get  them." 

Skipper  Hains  was  in  fresh  white,  brown  and  healthy 
and  active. 

His  little  blue  eyes  didn't  appear  to  see  anything,  but 
nothing  missed  them.  Anxiously  he  had  watched  Hunt 
ingdon  climb  the  ship's  side.  He  wondered  what  he'd 
read  in  the  lad's  face.  The  old  truth  and  candor  were 
there,  if  the  color  was  missing.  But  he  was  fit,  unusu 
ally  fit  for  Africa. 

Plains  ordered  champagne  with  a  high  hand  —  and 
with  plenty  of  ice,  too. 

"  Ah,  me  lads,  here's  to  us  all  —  together  once  again 
and  to-day's  Christmas.  Diwil  a  bit  ye'd  ken  it  was 
Christmas  didn't  the  calendar  tell  us  so.  It's  cold  and 
snows  and  mistletoe  —  '  he  began,  but  suddenly  he 
changed  his  tactics.  "  And  it's  well  ye're  all  looking. 
Ah,  ye  can't  beat  the  British  — -  ner  the  Irish.  We 
keep  our  feast  days  no  matter  where  we  be  nor  what 
divvils  threaten  us." 

He  managed  to  draw  Sadler  aside. 

"  Me  lad,"  he  whispered,  "  what  time's  the  feast?  " 

"  Indeed,  I  don't  know,  Skipper !  " 

"  Hould  yer  toush  now,  but  be  after  soundin'  Mr. 
Huntingdon's  boy." 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  251 

"  If  it's  about  grub,  Skipper,  save  your  chef.  Hunt 
ingdon's  got  a  barbecue  on  big  enough  to  feed  a  whole 
army  of  fasting  blue  jackets." 

"  Has  he  now?  Well,  be  a  good  lad  and  run  along 
and  find  out  the  hour  for  the  feast." 

"  One  o'clock,"  Sadler  reported  in  a  little  while,  after 
having  secretly  consulted  Ngumbe,  who  attended  his 
master. 

"  I  hear  it's  a  foine  mansion  ye  builded  out  here,  Mr. 
Huntingdon,"  said  Skipper  Hains.  His  tones  were 
noticeably  Irish.  They  were  always  so  when  he  was 
happiest. 

"  Yes,  I've  been  fixing  up  a  bit  —  making  myself  com 
fortable  —  two  years  and  a  half  more  to  put  in,  you 
know.  Might  as  well  get  the  best  there  is." 

"  Ye're  right,  me  lad,  and  it  keeps  you  — "  he  was 
going  to  say  "  out  of  mischief,"  instead  he  added, 
"  from  thinking  about  the  time  ahead  of  ye  yet  to  be 
served.  Yes,  I  heard  about  the  grandeur  of  your  place 
away  north  in  Sierra  Leone." 

"Yes?" 

"  It's  the  gossip  of  the  country  "  —  and  so  are  you 
the  skipper  might  have  added,  but  he  didn't.  "  Well, 
come  on,  thin,  show  me  this  grand  place.  It's  improve 
ments  I  love  to  look  at.  Arrah,  we  had  a  divvil  of  a 
voyage  out.  Stiff est  crowd  ye  ever  knew.  Governors 
and  lords  and  creatures  like  that  done  up  in  rigimintals 
and  spurs."  There  was  no  mistaking  the  contempt  in 
the  skipper's  tones.  "  Ah,  here  are  me  officers  now. 
All  hands  bound  for  John  Holt's  descend  to  the  surf 
boats !  And,  Sampson,  be  after  'tinding  to  all  me  com 
mands,"  and  in  the  Kru's  ear  he  whispered:  "  Tell  the 


252  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Chief  Steward  to  have  everything  at  Mr.  Huntingdon's 
by  high  noon,  savvy?  " 

"  I  savvy,  Captain." 

The  skipper's  keen  eyes  took  in  every  detail  of  Hunt 
ingdon's  transformed  bungalow.  His  greatest  delight 
was  that  it  contained  no  hint  of  woman. 

Gifts  and  letters  were  many  for  Huntingdon.  Old 
Wallace,  Haywood,  Longworthy  and  Cartwright  wrote. 
With  the  exception  of  fever,  all  were  as  well  as  could  be 
expected. 

Neither  Sadler  nor  Moore  received  any  gifts  from 
civilization,  but  Huntingdon  had  something  for  all  of 
his  guests :  nargilehs,  Turkish  tobacco,  and  cigarettes 
and  jars  of  candied  ginger. 

"  Is  it  a  gurrl  ye  think  Oi  am,"  demanded  Skipper 
Hains,  as  he  placed  the  ginger  by  for  safe  keeping. 
"  Ah,  thin,  it's  a  confession  Oi'll  be  after  making :  it's 
a  swate  tooth  Oi  have  in  me  ould  head  and  more'n  wan 
av  thim." 

His  brogue  denoted  the  skipper's  happiness,  but  none 
of  the  other  white  men  appeared  to  notice  it. 

Moore's  gift  to  Huntingdon  was  an  ancient  staff  of 
ebony  carved  with  crocodiles,  snakes,  bats  and  butterflies. 

Attended  by  an  armed  Senegalese  tirrailleur  and  a 
smallboy,  the  Douane  came,  in  spotless  white  and  hung 
with  medals. 

The  Creole  was  debonnaire  and  graceful,  despite  the 
soft  fat  on  his  bones. 

Hains  had  no  liking  for  dark-skinned  foreigners,  all 
of  whom  he  dubbed  half-breeds.  He  loved  the  French 
least  of  all ;  his  Irish  honesty  and  candor  could  not 
tolerate  their  surface  politeness  and  inward  treachery. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  253 

Douanes  he  knew  only  as  skunks  who  pounced  on  every 
parcel  of  importation  for  the  bit  of  commission  in  it. 
They  were  some  of  the  scorpions  of  the  coast  he  avoided 
assiduously. 

But  Skipper  Hains  was  just.  In  the  Douane  he  rec 
ognized  a  gentleman :  a  proper  companion  for  his  be 
loved  Huntingdon. 

The  Douane's  gift  to  Huntingdon  was  a  very  old  na 
tive  knife.  The  wooden  handle  was  roughly  carved  to 
imitate  a  snake,  and  from  its  open  mouth  the  blade 
protruded.  It  was  two-edged  and  shaped  like  a  scythe. 

Besides  the  food  provided  by  Huntingdon,  the  skip 
per's  gifts  were  two  convasback  ducks ;  a  guinea  pig 
stuffed  with  apples  and  chestnuts ;  Yorkshire  pudding ; 
TenerifFe  wine ;  French  champagne,  and  a  cask  of  Eng 
lish  ale. 

From  Lady  Huntingdon  and  Marjorie  came  plum 
pudding,  nuts  and  sweets,  and  pretty  trifles  made  by 
them.  The  latter  Huntingdon  carefully  packed  away ; 
they  had  no  place  in  that  rough  environment. 

The  feast  lasted  from  one  o'clock  until  seven. 

Healths  were  drunk  to  everybody :  to  England ;  to  the 
King  and  the  Queen ;  to  mothers  and  sweethearts,  sisters 
and  brothers ! 

Oh,  there  was  a  hilarious  time !  Hilarious,  because 
silence  might  creep  in,  and  tears  might  flow,  and  tears 
would  never  do  at  a  Christmas  feast ;  oh,  no  ! 

"  Mr.  Skipper  Hains,"  cried  Huntingdon,  "  you've 
forgotten  something." 

"  And  have  I  now?  "  questioned  the  skipper. 

"  Mistletoe,  English  mistletoe,"  spoke  up  Sadler. 
"  That's  what  he  forgot,  isn't  it,  Huntingdon?  " 


254  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Before  Huntingdon  had  time  to  answer,  the  skipper 
remarked : 

"  If  it's  your  eyes  ye'd  be  using  more  and  less  your 
tongues,  ye  might  be  after  seeing  somewhat." 

The  skipper's  eyes  were  deep  in  an  ebony  tankard 
of  ale.  But  Huntingdon  discovered  the  mistletoe  with 
its  waven  blooms  hanging  from  the  long  beak  of  a  crane 
suspended  low  from  the  ceiling  right  over  the  table. 

Huntingdon  couldn't  speak.  'Twas  the  first  Christ 
mas  he  had  ever  spent  away  from  home.  They  were 
missing  him  there,  too  — 

The  skipper's  tones  were  unusually  blustering  as  he 
bellowed : 

"  And  don't  be  a-thankin'  me.  It's  the  Lady  Mar- 
jorie  that  did  it.  Ye've  been  telling  things  on  me  to 
her,  Mr.  Huntingdon,  and  she's  been  a-writing  to  me, 
and  she  came  all  the  way  to  Liverpool,  and  the  Earl,  her 
father.  Sez  she  to  me  —  arrah,  me  lad,  but  she  has 
the  bonny  brown  eyes,  and  the  red,  kissing  lips,  and  the 
beauteous  red  hair  —  red  and  a-rippling  and  astray 
like  the  Irish  colleens  —  only  she's  not  got  the  freckles. 
Thinks  me'sel  when  she  looked  up  into  me  sea-dimmed 
eyes  with  her  shining  bright  ones,  my,  thinks  Oi,  if  there 
was  only  a  freckle,  just  one  on  the  end  of  your  pretty, 
saucy  nose,  arrah,  what  was  it,  lad,  Oi  set  out  to  say? 
Oh,  yes.  Sez  she :  '  Captain  Hains  —  —  Oi  say,  Mr. 
Huntingdon,  I'm  after  thinking  that  thim  mermaids  that 
hypnotized  Ulysses,  ye  savvy  the  skipper  ye  told  me 
of  on  your  way  out,  who  went  a-sailing  over  strange 
seas  after  getting  loose  from  hell, —  thim  mermaids' 
voices  must  have  been  something  loike  the  Lady  Mar- 
j  orie's  —  Arrah,  it's  crazy  Oi'm  going  from  the  heat  — 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  255 

for  to  the  end  of  me  yarn  Oi'll  nivir  come.  Sez  the 
Lady  Marjorie  to  me:  'Captain  Hains  ' — and  nivir 
will  Oi  forget  that  voice  nor  the  lovelight  in  her  eyes  — 
sez  she :  '  Captain  Hains,  Oi  know  Oi  can  trust  this 
package  to  His  Majesty's  Mails  as  Oi've  trusted 
manny's  a  token  before  now,  but  here's  a  parcel  Oi'd 
•like  ye  to  deliver  with  your  own  hands  to  —  to  — 
what  the  divvil  it  was  she  called  ye  —  not  the  Honor 
able,  nor  the  Mister  —  ah,  yes,  'twas  Cecil  —  and  the 
way  she  said  it,  arrah  —  it's  forgetting  Oi  am  what 
the  lady  said,  but  sez  she :  '  After  Cecil's  opened  his 
gifts  sent  in  charge  of  his  Majesty's  mails,  Oi'd  like 
ye  to  do  me  the  favor  to  open  this  parcel.  The  mistle 
toe,  please,  hang  over  his  table ;  put  it  in  the  mouth  of 
one  of  those  white  birds  he  wrote  about  —  as  if  the 
bird  was  after  flying  from  me  to  him,  and  this,  you're 
to  lay  this  in  his  hand  '—  now  what  the  divvil  was  it 
she  said  — ,"  the  skipper  stopped  abruptly  and  from  his 
pocket  he  pulled  - —  a  sprig  of  rosemary  and  laid  it  in 
Huntingdon's  hand. 

"  Arrah,  arrah,  an'  what  was  it  the  Lady  said,"  the 
skipper  stopped  again,  affecting  to  be  puzzled  and  filling 
up  the  gap  to  let  Huntingdon  get  his  feelings  under 
control.  "  Ah,  I've  got  it  —  it's  befuddled  me  brain  is 
from  this  domned  nigger  heat,"  and  the  skipper's  words 
were  never  broader  nor  more  Irish  as  he  ended  lightly, 
yet  seriously:  "  Sez  the  Lady  Marjorie  to  me:  '  It's 
rosemary,  and  it's  for  remimbrance.'  Ye  bull-headed, 
Capstan,"  he  suddenly  shouted  at  little  Sadler,  "  how's 
the  sailing?  Crocs,  yes?  " 

"  And  river  horses,"  answered  Sadler,  trying  his  best 
to  keep  back  tears. 


256 

"  Ain't  ye  got  a  blunderbuss  or  a  Brown-bess  handy, 
or  can't  ye  use  one?  I  say,  Moore,  how's  the  ladies?  " 

Moore  was  also  looking  down  his  nose,  but  such  a 
question  never  failed  to  arouse  him. 

"  That's  my  affair,"  he  bridled,  but  little  Sadler  com 
menced  to  sing: 

My  Bonnie  lies  over  the  ocean, 
My  Bonnie  lies  over  the  sea, 
My  Bonnie  lies  over  the  ocean, 
Oh,  bring  back  my  Bonnie  to  me. 

The  others  joined  in,  and  the  rafters  fairly  rang  with 
the  chorus  to  the  delight  of  the  servants  and  passing 
natives. 

The  black  heads  peering  in  at  the  door  reminded  the 
skipper  of  something. 

"  Mr.  Mellon,"  Skipper  Hains  cried,  addressing  his 
first  officer.  "  Ye  saw  to  the  rum  and  the  tobacco  for 
the  boys." 

"  Aye,  aye,  captain.  They're  stowed  away  in  Mr. 
Huntingdon's  bedroom  for  safe  keeping." 

"  Two  hands  for'ard,"  roared  the  skipper. 

Ogula  and  Nkombi  Kakhi  stepped  briskly  into  the 
room. 

"  Show  'em  where  the  stuff  lies,  Mr.  Mellon,  and  let 
them  be  off  wit'  it.  Ye  won't  be  needing  them  again 
the  day,  Mr.  Huntingdon  ?  " 

"  All  can  go,  save  Ngumbe  and  Mbega,"  Huntingdon 
answered. 

After  the  plum  pudding,  blazing  with  rum,  coffee  and 
cigars  were  served,  Sadler  said: 

"  I'll  be  boy  from  now  on,  Huntingdon !  Nothing  to 
do  but  serve  up  wet  drinks.  Let  Ngumbe  and  Mbega 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  257 

go  with  the  rest  of  the  gang.  Christmas  like  this  comes 
only  once  in  a  lifetime  with  these  beggars.  Let  'em 
eat  and  drink  until  they  get  the  bellyache." 

Thus  midst  raillery  and  mockery  and  devil-may-carity 
and  pathos  and  a  tacit  shunning  of  reminiscences  the 
Christmas  feast  was  enjo}red. 

"  Oi  say,  Mr.  Huntingdon,"  cried  Skipper  Hains, 
"  where's  that  game  of  bridge  Oi've  been  after  promis 
ing  me'sel?  It's  not  a  dacent  game  Oi've  had  since  ye 
voyaged  out  wit'  me." 

Two  tables  were  arranged,  the  winning  partners 
changing  after  each  rubber.  After  a  time,  the  others 
tired  and  dropped  out  leaving  the  Douane,  Huntingdon, 
Dr.  Young  and  Hains,  four  matched  players. 

Play  had  been  for  a  halfpenny  the  point,  and  gains 
and  losses  on  either  side  had  been  small. 

Young  proposed  twopence  the  point,  and  the  others 
agreed. 

It  was  decided  to  play  pivot. 

They  cut. 

Hains  was  pivot.  Partners  were  to  change  after 
each  rubber. 

The  scores  were  high.  No  trumpers  and  royal  spades 
predominated. 

Then  an  interesting  hand  was  played. 

The  Douane  was  dealing ;  Hains  was  his  partner  and 
dummy. 

The  Douane  bridged  it. 

Hains  declared: 

"  No  trump  !  " 

Huntingdon  promptly  doubled.  He  was  to  the  left 
of  the  Douane  and  it  was  his  first  play. 


258  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Hains  redoubled. 

Huntingdon  came  back. 

Hains  was  satisfied. 

To  the  surprise  of  all,  the  Douane  redoubled. 

Huntingdon  was  content. 

Hains  rapidly  computed: 

"  12,  24,  48,  96,  192  times  tuppence  makes  65s.  6d. 
a  trick  for  the  winner.  Capstans  and  halyards !  Now 
me  noble  partner,  play  as  though  the  divvil  had  us  both 
by  the  heels  awaiting  to  clean  us  out.  It's  a  fine  hand 
I  have  for  ye,  except  two  suits,  and  if  ye  can  control 
them,  being's  ye  doubled  when  the  palaver  seemed 
set,  then  extra  fizz  water  for  all  hands  round  and  the 
winnings  to  ourselves.  Go  on,  Mr.  Huntingdon,  lead, 
and  may  the  divvil  take  ye.'* 

Huntingdon  lead  a  small  club,  proclaiming  his  suit 
to  be  clubs. 

The  skipper  laid  down  his  hand. 

There  wasn't  one  club!  There  were  three  diamonds, 
queen  high;  seven  spades,  ace,  then  jack;  and  of 
hearts,  ace,  king  and  ten. 

'Twas  really  a  royal  spade  hand,  but  the  skipper  was 
a  sport  and  he  had  faith  in  the  Douane. 

"  If  ye  can  get  them  spades  a-working,  partner,"  he 
said,  "  then  we're  good  for  the  odd.  If  we  can't  we  pay 
the  damage.  Cast  off !  " 

That  was  the  last  word  spoken  during  the  hand. 

On  Huntingdon's  lead  of  the  four  of  clubs,  the 
Douane  discarded  a  diamond  from  the  dummy. 

Dr.  Young,  Huntingdon's  partner,  played  the  ace  of 
clubs  and  the  Douane  played  the  three. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  259 

Dr.  Young  came  back  with  the  five  of  clubs. 

The  Douane's  play  was  eagerly  awaited.  Everybody 
knew  clubs  were  Huntingdon's  suit  and  he  likely  held  the 
king. 

The  Douane's  movements  were  always  slow,  but  now 
languor  seemed  to  envelop  him  completely. 

He  laid  down  his  cards  and  begged  permission  to 
light  a  cigarette. 

He  puffed  at  it  slowly,  one,  two,  three  times ! 

The  Englishmen  were  on  nettles,  the  skipper  partic 
ularly  so.  He  couldn't  mask  his  impatience.  He  stood 
up,  stretched  himself,  then  sat  down  again. 

Languidly,  the  Douane  resumed  his  cards,  and  his 
white  jeweled  hand  laid  down  —  the  king  of  clubs. 

Of  course  he  would  lead  a  spade  —  so  the  others 
thought. 

Instead  he  lead  —  the  ace  of  diamonds,  and  from 
the  dummy  he  followed  suit  with  the  seven  of  diamonds. 

He  would  surely  lead  a  spade  now. 

He  didn't.      He  laid  down  a  small  heart. 

Huntingdon  covered  it  with  the  seven  spot. 

The  others  expected  the  Douane  to  come  in  with  the 
ace  or  king  from  the  dummy. 

Again  the  Douane  was  provokingly  slow.  Again  he 
puffed  at  his  cigarette.  Hains'  feet  were  twitching 
nervously,  Young  was  noticeably  agitated,  and  Hunt 
ingdon's  brows  were  drawn. 

Then  slowly,  slowly  from  the  dummy,  the  Douane 
pulled  out —  the  ten  of  hearts! 

Dr.  Young  played  the  eight.  It  was  the  highest  one 
he  had ! 


260  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

'Twas  the  dummy's  lead. 

The  Douane  played  more  briskly  now. 

He  pulled  out  the  ace  of  hearts  and  from  his  own 
hand  discarded  a  diamond,  proclaiming  that  the  heart 
he  lead  was  the  only  one  he  had. 

From  the  dummy  he  next  lead  the  king  of  hearts. 
Huntingdon's  only  hope  now  lay  in  his  partner's  hav 
ing  the  king  of  spades  guarded  and  coming  back  with 
a  club  or  a  diamond. 

Again  it  was  the  dummy's  lead,  and  there  was  nothing 
left  but  spades. 

Huntingdon  bent  over  the  table. 

The  skipper's  little  blue  eyes  were  almost  masked  by 
their  lids  as  though  he  were  gazing  into  thick  space. 

Dr.  Young  pushed  his  cards  closer,  his  eyes  on  the 
dummy. 

The  skipper  and  Huntingdon  were  in  suspense  to  see 
Young's  play,  and  Young  to  see  Huntingdon's.  The 
latter  must  have  doubled  on  something  worth  while.  As 
he  didn't  have  aces  he  must  have  guarded  kings  and 
queens.  Young  was  confident  Huntingdon  had  the  king 
of  spades,  and  the  skipper  and  Huntingdon  were  confi 
dent  that  Young  held  it. 

Slowly  from  the  dummy  the  Douane  pulled  the  ace  of 
spades.  Dr.  Young  played  a  spot ;  so  did  the  Douane 
and  Huntingdon. 

Again  the  Douane  was  compelled  to  lead  from  the 
dummy. 

He  led  the  eight  of  spades. 

Now  was  the  critical  moment. 

The  silence  was  tense. 

It  was  Dr.  Young  who  seemed  slow. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  261 

He  played  the  queen,  the  only  one  he  had  left; 
his  suit  was  diamonds.  The  Douane  covered  it  with 
the  king;  Huntingdon  discarded  a  diamond.  Then  the 
Douane  lead  a  spade;  jack,  dummy  took  it,  and  the  re 
maining  dummy  spade  was  good. 

"  A  baby  slam,"  shouted  the  Skipper  leaning  over  and 
ringing  the  Douane's  hand.  "  It's  a  Gineral  and  an 
Irishman  ye  ought  to  be,  instid  of  — "  he  caught  himself 
in  time  —  he  was  going  to  say  half-breed.  "  Arrah, 
let's  see  now  how  much  we're  to  the  good.  6  tricks. 
Six  times  192  for  each  trick  equals  1152.  Add  30  for 
aces  and  12  for  the  baby  slam  makes  1194  @  tuppence. 
Whew!  4776d  or  398s,  or  £19  18s,  for  each  of  us, 
Monsieur  Douane.  If  the  Irish  had  such  luck,  they'd 
be  owning  England  and  free-ruling  thimselves  ! " 

Bridge  was  Skipper  Hains'  ruling  passion  and  he 
loved  no  one  so  much  as  a  good  player.  He  forgot  that 
the  Douane  was  one  of  the  coast  skunks  whom  he  so 
cordially  hated  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he 
pressed  a  half-breed,  a  detested  Frenchman  to  dine  with 
him  aboard  the  Nigeria  on  her  next  voyage.  The 
pleasure  could  not  be  his  now,  because  the  Nigeria  was 
to  steam  away  with  the  dawn. 

But  the  Douane  sincerely  regretted  his  inability  to  ac 
cept  the  invitation.  In  two  months  his  term  expired  and 
he  expected  to  at  once  return  to  Martinique. 

"  In  the  name  of  chance,  what  did  you  double  and 
redouble  on,  Mr.  Huntingdon  ?  "  cried  Dr.  Young. 

"  I  had  seven  clubs  up  to  the  queen ;  king,  queen,  and 
jack  of  diamonds;  the  queen  and  tray  of  hearts.  One 
spade.  'Twas  my  lead.  I  played  you  for  something. 
I  thought  it  was  easy  sailing  when  you  took  my  first 


262  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

trick  with  the  ace  of  clubs  and  came  back  with  a  spot, 
but  the  Douane  and  not  you  held  the  king.  Who  ever 
dreamed  that  you  wouldn't  hold  an  ace,  the  dummy 
would  have  no  club,  and  my  clubs  and  diamond  suits 
would  be  killed  right  off  the  reel.  I  say,  Monsieur  le 
Douane,  why  did  you  play  your  ten  instead  of  your  king 
or  ace  of  hearts  ?  " 

"  You  doubled,"  answered  the  Douane,  "  and  I 
reasoned  if  my  ten  went  through,  we  would  make  a  little 
slam.  The  stakes  were  high  and  worth  going  for." 

"  Ah,  gwan,  quit  holding  post  mortems,"  roared 
Skipper  Hains.  "  Whew !  That's  the  most  excitement 
I've  had  in  a  long  run,  and  'tis  the  best  hand  I've  seen 
played  in  some  time.  I'll  set  up  the  fizz  water  just  for 
the  excitement  and  pleasure  it's  been  to  me." 

"  Oh,  no,  Skipper,"  remonstrated  Huntingdon. 
"  Fizz  water's  on  me  —  you're  a  winner." 

"  More  reason  for  me  setting  it  up.  Annyhow,  it's 
extra  pleasure  ye'd  be  giving  me  ould  Irish  heart.  It's 
midnight,  time  to  turn  in,  and  ye  wouldn't  want  to  be  a 
spoilin'  the  fine  day  I've  had,  would  ye  now,  me  lad?  " 

There  was  no  resisting  the  skipper's  Irish  reasoning. 

He  set  up  the  wine. 

At  daybreak,  the  Nigeria  steamed  away. 

New  Year's  day,  the  Douane  entertained.  Every 
white  man  in  Cape  Lopez  was  invited  and  made  merry. 

It  was  another  divine  day,  just  as  Christmas  had  been. 

The  two  months'  and  a  half  of  rain  seemed  to  have 
washed  Africa  clean  of  her  stains  and  menaces. 

The  bush  was  beautiful  in  luxurious  growth  and  color 
ing;  the  sands  of  the  beach  were  packed  hard;  walking 
infinitely  easier  and  very  pleasant;  the  moist  earth 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  263 

slacked  the  sun's  thirst ;  sea  breezes  tempered  the  heat ; 
humidity  was  absent,  breathing  was  a  joy. 

The  temperamental  white  men  responded  to  Nature's 
merry  mood  and  good  fellowship  reigned.  They  parted 
in  the  best  of  spirits,  each  wishing  the  other  good  luck 
and  health.  Huntingdon  hoped  that  such  good  fellow 
ship  would  continue.  Monotony  would  then  lose  its 
horror,  and  companionship,  the  beloved  of  exiles,  would 
make  life  tolerable. 

But  Africa  entices,  only  to  torture  the  more. 

The  next  day  Cape  Lopez  was  startled  by  the  death 
of  the  Douane  —  from  dysentery  ! 

Sadler  and  Huntingdon  were  the  only  mourners.  The 
other  white  men  were  again  deep  in  Africa's  clutch. 

Again  a  grave  on  the  wind-swept  beach  was  dug  and 
another  white  alien  slept  the  sleep  that  knows  no  awaken 
ing;  o'erhead  the  palms  sighed  mournfully,  and  on  the 
beach  the  sea  beat  a  monotonous  tattoo. 

Sadler  returned  to  Lambarene  and  Huntingdon  was 
alone. 

The  next  week  brought  the  tornadoes.  Rains  lashed 
the  earth ;  thunder  reverberated  through  the  heavens ; 
lightning  blasted  and  devastated;  humidity  like  a  wet 
blanket  smothered  all  things  and  man's  endurance  was 
taxed  to  the  utmost !  Oh,  how  Huntingdon  missed  the 
Douane!  There  was  no  one  to  whom  he  could  talk  of 
Marjorie ;  no  one  to  comfort  and  console  him ;  no  one  to 
whom  he  could  give  his  confidence.  It  was  the  greatest 
loss  he  had  yd  suffered ;  he  brooded  upon  it ;  he  cursed 
Africa  and  drank  deeply. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

WHEN  the  first  week  in  March  arrived  and  the  rains 
still  continued,  Huntingdon  was  pretty  well  tired  of  his 
own  society,  of  incessant  work  and  lack  of  exercise. 
Great  then  was  his  joy  when  Ngumbe  reported  that 
Monsieur  and  Madame  Leon,  the  missionaries  whose  com 
ing  had  been  gossiped  about  on  Huntingdon's  arrival 
at  Cape  Lopez,  were  settled  at  the  Rest  House  for  an 
indefinite  stay. 

Showing  his  contempt  for  gossip,  Huntingdon  pre 
ceded  his  call  upon  the  missionaries  by  sending  fresh 
meat  killed  by  Ogula  and  some  dainty  edibles  prepared 
by  Makaya. 

Accustomed  to  the  smoothly  shaven,  immaculately 
clean  High-Church  prelates  of  Europe,  Huntingdon  was 
taken  aback  by  the  bearded,  uncouth  appearance  of  the 
3'oung  missionary.  He  wore  a  native-made  khaki  suit, 
the  trousers  of  which  were  too  short  and  the  coat  too 
small ;  he  did  in  truth  look  like  a  scarecrow,  as  little 
Sadler  had  said. 

But  in  Madame  Leon  Huntingdon  found  a  charming 
woman,  shy  and  retiring,  with  a  spirituelle  face  and  very 
sad,  expressive  brown  eyes.  It  was  quite  apparent  that 
she  and  her  husband  were  both  too  young  and  of  insuf 
ficient  experience  for  missionary  work  in  such  a  field  as 
Africa.  After  the  first  discussion  of  religion,  Hunting- 
SB^ 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  265 

don  avoided  the  subject.  He  and  Leon  were  of  diverse 
opinions,  and  Madame,  of  course,  agreed  with  her  hus 
band. 

Tea  and  biscuits  were  served,  and  a  delightful,  relax 
ing  hour  was  passed. 

Madame  Leon  was  the  first  white  woman  with  whom 
Huntingdon  talked  since  he  left  Europe.  She  was  a 
breath  from  civilization.  Her  presence  would  help  him 
fight  the  desires  of  the  flesh  rising  strong  within  him. 
For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  recognized  fully  all  a 
refined  white  woman  means  to  a  man ! 

He  begged  permission  to  call  again. 

Madame  glanced  timidly  at  her  husband. 

He  was  silent. 

Traders  and  missionaries  never  came  together  save  to 
clash:  the  latter  to  remonstrate  against  the  corruption 
and  theft  of  native  women ;  the  former  to  send  the  mis 
sionaries  to  hell  and  damnation  for  interfering  with  the 
white  man's  only  diversion  and  pleasure. 

"  We  are  always  at  home,  M'sieu  Huntingdon,"  Leon 
finally  said.  "  We  shall  be  glad  to  receive  you." 

Huntingdon's  pleasure  was  great. 

He  expressed  his  thanks,  and  kissed  Madame's  hand 
at  parting. 

The  servants  of  the  missionaries  were  young  boys 
just  beginning  their  training.  Their  cooking  and  other 
services  were  of  the  worst  caliber ;  hence  Huntingdon 
took  keen  joy  in  keeping  the  missionaries  supplied  with 
choice  confections  made  by  Makaya  and  game  of  all 
sorts  killed  by  Ogula. 

With  the  Douane's  death  Huntingdon's  vegetables 
stopped.  Now  he  longed  for  them  for  the  gentle  white 


266  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

woman's  sake,  and  he  determined  to  have  a  garden  of 
his  own  as  soon  as  the  rains  ceased. 

At  first  Huntingdon  dropped  in  to  tea  only  every 
other  day ;  then  he  went  every  day.  He  looked  eagerly 
forward  to  the  four  o'clock  hour ;  it  was  a  break  in  the 
deadly  monotony ;  something  to  dress  for.  Tea  and 
biscuits  were  daintily  served ;  the  conversation  was 
varied  and  refined  and  Madame  was  a  refreshing,  civi 
lized  breath  which  robbed  the  present  of  its  keenest 
torture. 

Gradually  Madame  Leon  lost  her  shyness.  She  was 
intelligent,  well  read  and  traveled.  She  had  been  a 
teacher  of  languages  in  Switzerland,  and  she  spoke 
French,  German  and  English  but  her  husband  spoke 
only  French. 

She  told  Huntingdon  something  of  her  duties  at  the 
little  mission  station  in  the  bush  beyond  Lambarene. 
Every  morning  and  night  there  were  church  services ;  on 
week-day  mornings  church  was  followed  by  an  hour  spent 
in  the  hospital  where  the  natives  were  treated  for  all 
sorts  of  ailments ;  then  school  followed.  Hymnals, 
Bibles  and  books  were  printed  in  the  native  dialects ;  girls 
were  taught  such  simple  domestic  science  as  was  neces 
sary  to  healthy,  moral  living ;  boys  were  taught  tailoring, 
carpenter  work  and  wood  carving.  Madame  was  the 
overseer  of  her  own  little  household.  Her  servants  were 
young  mission  boys. 

"  Wouldn't  you  find  it  easier  to  teach  the  women 
household  work  and  wouldn't  you  rather  have  them  about 
you?  "  Huntingdon  asked. 

"  Strange  to  say,  M'sieu  Huntingdon,"  Madame  re 
plied,  "  the  native  girls  are  more  stupid  than  the  boys 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  267 

about  household  matters,  but  the  main  reason  for  not 
having  them  as  servants  is  because  every  one  of 
them  is  a  wife  and  her  husband  or  owner  will  not  trust 
her  to  work  for  the  white  man."  A  flush  overspread 
Madame's  pale  face  and  Huntingdon,  comprehending 
the  reason  for  it,  hastily  asked : 

"  But  you  must  find  the  life  monotonous,  the  work 
tedious?  " 

"  I  would  not  mind  it  if  the  white  men  would  let  my 
girls  alone.  But  they  are  always  stealing  them." 

She  lowered  her  eyes  to  the  lint  she  was  cutting.  But 
not  quickly  enough.  Huntingdon  sensed  her  existence: 
perpetual  service,  perpetual  sameness,  perpetual  ingrati 
tude  !  What  a  life  for  a  young,  sensitive,  refined  white 
woman ! 

Her  place  was  in  the  light,  the  joy,  the  change  of 
the  world,  with  a  mate  of  her  own  standing,  not  the 
inferior  creature  to  whom  the  Church  had  tied  her. 

Sympathy  for  her  welled  strong  in  Huntingdon.  He 
did  his  best  to  ease  her  lot.  He  kept  her  in  reading 
matter  and  Makaya  continued  to  concoct  delicacies  for 
her. 

Huntingdon  was  anxious  for  Madame  to  see  his  liv 
ing  quarters,  and  after  many  invitations,  Madame  and 
her  husband  honored  him  with  a  call.  Great  indeed 
was  his  pleasure,  and  great  were  Madame's  surprise  and 
delight  at  the  beauty  and  comfort  of  his  bungalow. 
Huntingdon  offered  to  move  out  and  give  the  mission 
aries  possession,  but  they  protested;  they  were  inured 
to  hardships ;  they  did  not  expect  luxuries  and  com 
fort  in  the  service  of  the  Lord ;  they  were  content  as 
they  were. 


268  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Huntingdon  showed  Madame  Marjorie's  picture,  and 
told  her  of  his  betrothal. 

Long  and  silently  Madame  studied  the  photograph, 
then,  she  said,  plaintively : 

"  A  sweet  face  —  and  a  noble  one.  Be  true  to  her,  go 
back  and  marry  her,  but  never  bring  her  out  here !  " 
It  was  the  nearest  regret  to  which  she  ever  gave  expres 
sion,  and  strange  to  relate  it  was  made  to  a  man  other 
than  her  husband!  Huntingdon,  the  gentleman,  the 
man  of  honor,  understood,  and  this  slight  confidence  and 
great  understanding  drew  closer  together  those  sensitive, 
impressionable  exiles  born  of  the  same  race  and  endowed 
with  the  same  fine  sensibilities. 

Huntingdon  was  happier  than  he  had  been  for  many 
a  day.  He  had  the  sympathetic  companionship  of  a 
refined  white  woman ;  no  more  would  he  be  lonesome,  and, 
to  show  his  appreciation,  unknown  to  Madame  he  had 
cases  of  delicate  canned  foods  sent  to  Lambarene  to 
greet  her  on  her  return. 

But,  alas,  pleasures  never  last  —  especially  in  Africa  ! 

A  few  days  later  Huntingdon  was  taking  his  usual 
after-luncheon  siesta  on  the  veranda,  invisible  to  out 
prying  eyes. 

Ngumbe  and  another  native  were  conversing  outside. 

"  King  Huntingdon  be  sweetheart  to  mission  woman. 
That's  why  him  never  take  native  woman  for  wife !  " 
said  the  strange  native. 

Huntingdon  was  horrified ! 

There  was  only  one  thing  for  him  to  do :  give  up  his 
daily  tea  at  the  Rest  House;  give  up  his  companionship 
with  Madame! 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  269 

And  they  meant  so  much  to  him !  They  were  the  only 
diversion  in  corroding  monotony  —  the  only  relief  from 
work,  heat,  moisture  and  insects ! 

But  no  matter  what  the  cost  to  him,  he  could  not  have 
a  white  woman  slandered ! 

He  cursed  the  natives,  and  remembered  Wallace's 
blasphemy  at  the  ear-splitting  gossip  of  the  coast.  The 
old  coaster  knew  whereof  he  spoke. 

Doubtless  the  tale  first  came  from  a  white  man :  from 
Moore,  or  LeBlanc.  They  were  both  so  determined  that 
he  would  become  as  they.  But  he'd  show  them ! 

Aside  from  his  promise  to  Marjorie,  as  was  the  way 
with  the  men  of  his  race,  attempt  to  force  a  thing  upon 
them,  and  they  would  rather  die  than  yield  —  even 
though  that  thing  were  for  their  best  good ! 

When  several  days  passed  and  Huntingdon  failed  to 
call  at  the  Rest  House,  Monsieur  Leon  sent  to  inquire  if 
he  were  ill? 

No !  He  was  usually  busy  with  the  mails  for  the  next 
European  steamer. 

Again,  that  his  incoming  cargo  was  so  large  that  he 
was  busy  checking  it  off. 

Again,  that  he  had  the  fever. 

His  heart  smote  him  for  the  latter  deception  when  a 
dainty  blanc-mange  and  tiny  swcetcakes  came  from 
Madame. 

"  I  made  them  myself,"  she  wrote.  "  I  hope  you  will 
enjoy  them.  We  miss  you  and  hope  you  will  soon  be 
well  enough  to  come  again,  as  usual." 

As  usual!  So  she  missed  him  too.  For  the  first  time 
in  his  life  rage  against  his  fellow  man  boiled  within  him ; 


270  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

murder  was  in  his  heart,  and  he  consigned  the  white 
men  of  Cape  Lopez  to  the  lowest  depths  of  blazing 
hell! 

He  took  a  great  draught  of  absinthe,  then,  deliber 
ately  he  passed  the  Rest  House  and  called  on  Moore 
next  door. 

With  Moore  he  sat  on  the  veranda  until  long  after 
nightfall  drinking  and  laughing,  when  LeBlanc,  Wild- 
man,  and  the  Chef  de  Paste  came  and  drinking  and 
gambling  went  on  all  night. 

Madame  was  on  the  veranda  when  he  passed  in  the 
morning. 

He  hoped  she  would  not  notice  him. 

She  bowed  gracefully.     But  she  did  not  smile. 

She  was  unusually  pale  and  great  rings  were  under 
her  eyes. 

Again  Huntingdon  cursed  all  men,  himself  included 
—  then  was  glad  that  for  a  woman's  sake  he  had  the 
courage  to  be  cruel ! 

But  it  was  not  done  without  great  effort.  He  had  to 
fight  selfishness  —  he  meant  no  harm  to  the  woman  — 
he  wanted  only  her  companionship,  the  pleasure  of 
afternoon  tea  —  the  break  in  eternal  sameness  !  Why 
shouldn't  he  enjoy  them!  She  would  never  get  to  hear 
the  gossip  about  her.  If  she  did,  hadn't  she  been  igno- 
miniously  slandered  before  he  had  ever  set  eyes  on  her? 

But  the  men  of  his  race  ever  honored  women  and 
protected  them.  He  beat  down  selfishness  —  and  beat 
Ngumbe  and  Mbega  too.  'Twas  the  first  time  he  ever 
laid  violent  hands  on  any  human  thing! 

He  was  ashamed,  too,  but  his  passions  must  have  some 
outlet ! 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  271 

The  brake  of  self-control  could  not  forever  curb. 

Shortly  afterwards,  the  missionaries  returned  to  Lam- 
barene  and  from  Monsieur  Leon  there  came  a  stiff, 
yet  polite  note,  thanking  Huntingdon  for  the  cases  of 
goods  he  had  sent,  and  expressing  the  hope  that  all  was 
well  with  him. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

HUNTINGDON  left  John  Holt's  employ  exactly  one 
year  and  two  weeks  after  entering  it.  The  two  weeks 
were  given  to  breaking  in  his  successor,  a  white  man 
from  Gaboon. 

Huntingdon's  new  factory  was  the  most  modern  and 
healthy  in  the  country.  It  was  of  one  story ;  well  raised 
from  the  ground,  with  a  cement  floor,  and  plenty  of 
windows  and  ventilation.  The  selling  space  in  front 
was  modern  in  every  respect ;  the  warehouse  behind  was 
spacious ;  special  precautions  were  taken  to  protect  mer 
chandise  from  white  ants,  and  a  burglar  alarm  was  con 
nected  with  the  new  bungalow. 

Both  bungalow  and  factory  were  situated  on  the  beach 
just  north  of  John  Holt's. 

Goods  were  imported  direct  from  Europe,  and  con 
sisted  only  of  those  things  which  appealed  directly  to  the 
natives.  There  were  no  hand  sewing  machines  without 
needles ;  no  jewelry  that  turned  green  at  the  first  breath 
of  the  sea ;  no  silk  stockings  for  legs  that  never  wore 
any  sort  of  stockings ;  no  junk  scorned  by  the  civilized 
and  supposed  to  be  good  enough  for  the  savage. 
Jewelry  was  of  good  plate ;  there  were  many  different 
kinds  of  cloth,  beads,  mirrors,  pomades,  belts,  knives, 
soaps,  rum  and  other  liquors,  trade  guns  and  powder, 
tobacco,  crockery,  enameled  tins,  parasols,  umbrellas, 
straw  hats,  broad-rimmed  felt  hats,  helmets,  suits  of 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  273 

khaki  and  of  white  drill  of  graduated  sizes,  gaudy  silk 
handkerchiefs,  sardines,  salt,  rice  and  dried  vegetables. 

The  bungalow  was  the  result  of  years  of  experience 
and  study  on  the  part  of  the  French  fathers. 

Floors  were  cement ;  Avails  and  high  ceilings  were  pan 
eled  with  polished,  roseate  mahogany ;  windows  were 
large  with  well-fitting  shutters ;  verandas  were  deep  and 
spacious  and  like  the  interior  finished  with  mahogany 
and  cement,  and  well  screened  and  shuttered.  The  gal 
ley  was  a  sanitary,  up-to-date,  civilized  kitchen,  with  an 
iron  cook  stove  imported  from  Europe. 

The  plan  of  the  bungalow  was  the  same  as  Holt's : 
the  living-room  in  the  center,  with  the  bedrooms  leading 
off  either  side.  The  furniture  occupied  the  same  rel 
ative  positions  in  the  new  bungalow  as  it  did  in  the  old. 
The  bedrooms  were  roomy,  cool  and  rest-inviting,  while 
the  great  center  room  was  more  effective  than  ever,  en 
hanced  by  the  cement  floor  and  the  paneled  walls  and 
ceiling. 

Huntingdon's  home  was  complete  and  beautiful.  He 
was  as  proud  of  it  as  though  he  were  a  bride. 

Wallace,  Longworthy,  Haywood,  Cartwright  and 
Skipper  Hains,  with  whom  Huntingdon  kept  up  a  reg 
ular  correspondence,  cabled  their  congratulations ;  so 
did  Lord  and  Lady  Bedford,  Marjorie,  and  a  host  of 
friends.  John  Holt  especially  wished  his  competitor 
good  luck.  He  was  sorry  to  lose  Huntingdon,  but  from 
the  beginning  he  knew  Huntingdon's  plans ;  then,  too, 
it  is  a  truism:  that  which  we  desire  to  keep,  gets  away; 
that  which  we  would  lose,  hangs  on. 

The  local  traders  were  loud  in  their  praise  of  the  new 
factory  and  the  bungalow.  They  railed  against  their 


274,  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

respective  employers  for  compelling  them  to  remain  in 
unhealthy  factories  and  bungalows.  They  agreed  to 
send  protests  to  home  offices  and  demand  better  things  — 
which  they  never  did ! 

Sadler  brought  down  all  the  English  traders  in  the 
Ogowe  who  could  steal  away  for  a  few  days. 

The  little  fellow  was  happy  because  Huntingdon  had 
emerged  from  servitude  and  was  going  it  alone. 

Huntingdon  also  rejoiced  that  the  worst  of  his  exile 
was  over. 

He  was  now  his  own  master,  free  to  trade  how  and 
where  he  listed. 

In  his  factory  were  two  innovations ;  he  catered  only 
to  natives  ;  he  traded  both  for  cash  and  products.  Other 
factories  traded  for  cash  only  over  the  counter  and 
made  a  bid  for  the  white  man's  trade. 

Mbega,  impossible  as  a  liouseboy,  became  an  efficient 
shopboy.  He  had  learned  rapidly  from  Itula. —  To 
the  latter's  envy  when  Mbega,  not  he,  was  given  charge 
of  the  new  factory. 

Itula  was  sure  he  was  going,  but  Huntingdon  would 
not  rob  any  person  of  a  good  servant.  The  other  white 
men  said  that  he  was  a  fool  for  not  helping  himself  to 
all  he  could  get. 

Mbega  had  grown  and  developed  wonderfully  in  the 
past  year.  He  wore  a  well-fitting  suit  of  khaki  and 
threatened  to  surpass  Ngumbe  in  style  and  appear 
ance.  He  was  very  proud  of  the  confidence  reposed  in 
him  by  the  Great  White  King  and  he  became  a  veritable 
watchdog  for  his  master;  Ogula,  the  shootman,  was 
also  attentive  and  faithful ;  and,  while  Ngumbe  and 
Makaya  continued  to  serve  well,  it  was  solely  because 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  275 

of  their  pride  in  working  for  such  a  famous  master  and 
for  the  good  wages  he  paid. 

From  the  beginning  the  better  part  of  the  trade  of 
Cape  Lopez  was  Huntingdon's.  He  did  not  undersell 
his  competitors,  nor  did  he  offer  any  greater  induce 
ments  to  the  natives.  He  did  a  clean-cut,  straightfor 
ward  business ;  his  name  was  synonymous  with  square 
dealing. 

But  it  took  great  patience ! 

Although  the  natives  know  well  enough  what  their 
products  are  worth,  haggling  is  a  fine  art  with  them,  and 
time  is  their  greatest  asset.  They  never  hurry,  nor 
can  they  understand  why  the  all-powerful  white  man 
should  hurry.  They  go  from  factory  to  factory  and 
generally  end  by  trading  at  the  first  place  visited  by 
them. 

Time  sped,  for  it  was  the  dry  season. 

Again  the  Nigeria  and  the  Dwarf  came.  Skipper 
Hains  continued  to  rejoice  that  no  black  woman  appeared 
on  Huntingdon's  horizon  and  together  he  and  Hunting 
don  longed  for  the  Nigeria's  next  call,  when  she  would 
take  away  Huntingdon's  first  shipment  of  logs. 

The  Dwarf  revived  the  hunt  and  lavish  entertainments, 
in  which  Huntingdon  again  took  the  lead.  The  year  in 
Hell's  Playground  did  not  seem  to  leave  any  mark  on 
Huntingdon  and  Bouchard  Avas  glad  to  pay  his  bet. 
Everybody  got  proper  drunk,  Huntingdon  included; 
again  the  fun  was  fast  and  furious  —  and  Huntingdon 
remained  until  the  end.  He  lived  the  same  lives  as  the 
other  white  men,  with  one  exception  and  that  a  great 
one:  he  persisted  in  his  refusal  to  take  a  native  wife. 
Hence  many  an  hour  he  was  left  to  himself  and  in  his 


276  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

own  society  he  did  not  always  find  amusement.  How 
ever,  when  October  found  Cape  Lopez  again  settled  down 
to  its  weary  monotony,  Huntingdon  set  out  for  the 
main  Ogowe  to  make  a  personal  appeal  for  trade.  He 
was  amazed  at  the  great  wealth  to  be  had  simply  for 
the  plucking.  He  determined  to  exert  every  effort  to 
obtain  it ;  work  would  not  only  bring  him  surcease  from 
the  annihilating  present,  but  it  would  bring  Marjorie 
nearer.  The  more  Africa  combated  him,  the  more  de 
termined  was  he  to  conquer. 

For  the  first  time  he  rejoiced  in  the  fame  that  was  his 
as  the  Great  White  King.  He  recognized  the  power  it 
gave  him  over  the  natives.  He  used  that  power  to  its 
utmost  capacity. 

He  was  universally  received  with  marked  hospitality 
and  rejoicing,  and  he  was  surprised  at  the  number  of 
natives  who  spoke  English. 

Old  chiefs  regaled  him  with  tales  about  the  first  white 
traders  who  had  come  amongst  them.  Shriveled  up  old 
hags  were  proudly  brought  forth  and  exhibited  either 
as  their  wives  or  daughters.  Everywhere  was  good  will 
shown  him,  and  promises  were  made  to  send  him  great 
quantities  of  rubber,  ivory,  timber,  etc. 

The  greatest  honor  possible  was  thrust  upon  him ;  he 
was  asked  to  judge  tribal  palavers  that  had  endured  for 
years. 

He  patiently  listened  to  both  sides  of  the  argument, 
and  his  decisions  were  warranted  by  the  facts  ;  sentiment 
played  no  part  therein. 

From  restricted  trade  districts  natives  came  in  delega 
tions  and  begged  the  Great  White  King  to  bring  back 
the  English,  which  was  but  another  name  for  open  trade. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  277 

At  their  request  Huntingdon  visited  towns  in  the  re 
stricted  districts,  and  he  saw  for  himself  the  things  com 
plained  of  by  Smithson  and  the  natives. 

Many  towns  were  abandoned  ;  others  had  been  so  many 
times  raided  by  the  Commandants  in  search  of  impot 
that  they  were  but  dust  heaps  of  ruins  and  poverty. 
Trading  posts,  long  regarded  as  fixtures  and  about 
which  towns  were  built  and  plantations  cultivated,  were 
no  more.  Whole  communities  were  scattered  and  de 
stroyed.  Great  plains  which  for  upwards  of  fifty  years 
swarmed  with  life  and  the  bustle  of  passing  trade 
caravans,  were  silent  and  deserted ;  ant-hills  and  arid 
grass  and  wind-swept  paths  were  the  only  signs  of  life 
upon  them. 

Priceless  timbers,  rubber,  and  other  valuable  commod 
ities  were  rotting  in  vast  belts  of  the  rich  equatorial 
forests.  No  longer  did  heavily  laden  canoes  pass  to 
and  fro  upon  the  many  rivers ;  no  longer  did  the  song  of 
the  happy  paddlers  echo  from  shore  to  shore. 

Towns  of  which  they  told  tales  of  great  trading  done 
and  of  loves  and  hates  outrivaling  the  most  interest 
ing  fiction,  were  but  a  few  ragged  plantain  trees,  dis 
consolate  and  bowed  to  the  earth  as  the  very  natives 
themselves. 

Old  men  and  old  women,  once  a  power  unto  themselves, 
who  lived  before  the  first  white  man  came  amongst  them 
and  who  later  enjoyed  the  things  he  brought,  united  in 
one  long  wail  against  the  destruction  that  had  come  upon 
them  wrought  by  the  greed  of  the  French  Government ! 

Everywhere  the  same  cry  was  heard: 

"  O  Great  White  King,  give  us  the  English  back  be 
fore  it  is  too  late,  too  late!  Tell  your  country  how  the 


278  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

French  rob  and  crush  us.  What  aliens  we  are  in  the 
lands  of  our  fathers.  No  longer  is  there  any  freedom, 
any  caste  among  us.  Free  men  are  reduced  to  states 
worse  than  that  of  wild  beasts.  Beasts  have  a  lair  in 
which  they  find  safety.  But  sooner  or  later  the  French 
get  us  and  we  are  imprisoned,  degraded,  because  we 
have  no  products  to  market  and  no  market  in  which 
to  exchange  them  at  an  equitable  price  —  e'en  though 
we  do  harvest  our  own  products  for  the  concession 
aires!  " 

The  concessionaires  complained  to  Huntingdon  that 
the  natives  were  but  lazy  dogs  who  would  not  gather 
rubber,  nor  cut  timber,  and  who  ought  to  be  chicotted 
into  submission ! 

The  concessionaires  forgot  that  for  over  one-half  a 
century  the  lazy  dogs  were  content  with  a  bone  —  the 
biggest  share  is  always  the  white  man's.  But,  now, 
instead  of  the  bones,  the  natives  were  expected  to  come 
forward  and  receive  a  kick  for  their  pains !  Savage 
though  they  were,  they  had  intelligence  enough  to  keep 
at  a  safe  distance  from  the  kick. 

With  derision  they  looked  upon  the  ragged,  insect- 
eaten  tobacco  sold  them  at  an  exorbitant  price  and  spoke 
of  the  broad,  clean,  whole-leafed  Virginia  tobacco  of 
open  trade  days.  The  narrow,  thin,  unwashable  French 
cottons  they  disdained  and  pointed  with  pride  to  an  old, 
yet  still  wearable,  print  of  the  British  or  the  Germans. 

The  rice  sold  to  them  was  but  husks  and  dust ;  the 
rum  the  vile  wood  alcohol  of  commerce,  more  poisonous 
than  any  concoction  brewed  by  themselves.  Men  and 
women  and  children  went  down  under  it  daily. 

Huntingdon  knew  that  all  colonization  smells  more  or 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  279 

less  of  freebootery,  piracy,  but  where  such  methods 
defeat  the  purpose  in  view,  why  continue  them  ?  France 
outraged  all  the  laws  of  hospitality.  She  destroyed 
where  she  ought  to  protect. 

The  news  of  the  coming  of  a  Commandant  caused  a 
general  exodus  to  the  bush,  for  in  their  respective  dis 
tricts  commandants  wield  a  one-man  power,  despotic 
beyond  conception.  If  taxes  were  not  forthcoming,  men 
were  tied  up,  women  and  children  outraged,  and  every 
available  thing  carried  away  by  the  black  soldiers  who 
loved  to  pillage  and  destroy.  For  no  tyranny  so  great 
as  that  practiced  by  one  savage  over  another. 

The  enmity  of  the  government  and  the  traders  also 
extended  to  the  missions,  for  this  reason :  so  dependent 
had  the  natives  become  upon  the  white  man  that  their 
own  industries  were  neglected ;  very,  very  little  native 
cloth  was  woven ;  ironwork  was  almost  a  lost  art ;  the 
natives  never  did  grow  tobacco,  and  the  government 
forbade  their  making  salt,  although  the  broad  Atlantic 
washes  their  shores.  Hence,  treated  unjustly  by  gov 
ernment  and  traders,  the  natives  flocked  to  the  missions. 
Even  the  most  superstitious  and  degraded  of  them  had 
to  seek  the  men  of  God  palaver.  They  brought  their 
products  for  exchange  —  whenever  they  could  steal  prod 
ucts  from  the  concessions  —  they  clamored  for  work. 
Prosperity  came  to  the  missions  and  their  profits  were 
not  sent  to  Europe,  but  were  used  locally,  for  the  de 
velopment  of  mission  plantations  and  schools  and  the 
betterment  of  the  native. 

The  traders  complained  to  the  government  that  the 
missions  had  no  license  to  engage  in  trade  and  the  gov 
ernment  must  forbid  them  to  do  so!  France  heeded 


280  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

the  cry  of  the  traders  by  issuing  an  order  that  all  trade 
must  be  for  cash!  Another  long-rooted  custom  uprooted 
at  a  stroke !  From  time  out  of  mind  exchange  was  the 
order  of  trade,  and  where  were  the  natives  to  get  cash? 
They  not  only  had  no  products  to  market  but  no  com 
petitive  market  to  trade  in  and  they  continued  in  their 
refusal  to  work  for  their  oppressors.  Consequently, 
missions  had  to  close  their  factories  to  the  natives,  and 
the  natives,  not  appreciating  the  position  of  the  mis 
sions,  classed  them  among  their  enemies.  Undone  in 
an  instance  was  the  good  accomplished  by  the  missions 
in  the  half  century  or  more  of  their  hard  labor ! 

With  tears  in  their  eyes  the  good  fathers  at  the  Mis 
sion  of  Salute  Anne  in  the  Fernand-Vaz  complained  of 
these  things  to  Huntingdon,  and  in  native  towns,  the 
natives  themselves  told  him  that  missions  also  make 
fight-palaver  for  black  man!  The  missions  had  no 
laborers  to  work  their  plantations,  they  could  not  grow 
sufficient  foods  to  feed  the  mouths  of  the  converts  de 
pendent  upon  them,  they  were  handicapped  and  harassed 
on  every  side !  Formerly  the  government  paid  them  a 
yearly  sum  towards  their  work,  but  as  the  government 
grew  poorer  because  of  its  own  short-sighted  acts,  that 
stipend  was  withdrawn,  and  the  missions  thrown  wholly 
on  their  own  resources  had  not  the  wherewith  to  go  on ! 

France  boasts  of  liberte,  egalite  et  fraternite!  Bond 
age  is  by  no  means  the  most  depressing  condition  in  the 
world.  Robbery,  pillage  and  degradation  and  the  doing 
away  of  old-established  customs  long  enjoyed  are  far 
worse. 

Under  native  laws  many  slaves  were  richer  than  their 
masters.  They  owned  and  accumulated  property. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  281 

They  were  allowed  to  travel  to  different  parts  of  the 
country,  to  cut  timber,  gather  rubber,  etc.  But  France 
treated  free-born  natives  worse  than  the  natives  ever 
thought  of  treating  their  vilest  slaves.  They  could 
not  go  from  one  district  to  another  without  the  written 
consent  of  the  Commandant! 

Chiefs  and  other  free  men  were  no  longer  the  heads  of 
their  own  households  and  a  power  unto  themselves. 
Many  of  them  had  no  households  at  all.  Their  towns 
were  looted ;  destroyed ;  sons,  kinsmen,  retainers  suc 
cumbed  to  the  intruder,  or  else  had  run  away  where  the 
oppressor  could  not  reach  them. 

The  natives  were  forced  to  be  beggars,  drones,  cow 
ards,  thieves.  They  were  driven  by  the  lash  of  the  white 
man's  cupidity.  If  they  remained  to  argue,  they  were 
imprisoned  for  their  impudence ! 

Daily  the  government  and  the  natives  grew  farther 
apart. 

Instead  of  ingratiating  herself  into  the  favor  of  the 
natives  —  as  do  all  intruders  who  have  a  spark  of 
policy  about  them  —  France  continued  to  wave  the  red 
flag  of  oppression  and  further  oppression.  She  cut 
off  her  own  nose  to  spite  her  face,  and  wondered  why  the 
natives  fled  her  ugly  visage. 

Huntingdon  could  not  understand  the  policy  of 
France.  The  natives  were  not  appealing  to  the  powers 
and  demanding  relief  from  French  rule !  They  simply 
wanted  open  trade  restored ;  a  chance  to  work ;  to 
sell  their  products  in  a  competitive  market.  It  was  a 
just  demand,  a  natural  one.  Why  then  did  not  France 
heed  it?  The  gewgaws  of  the  white  man  were  not  neces 
sary  to  the  natives,  If  they  were  willing  to  work  their 


282  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

country  and  give  their  products  in  exchange  for  trade 
goods,  then  why  not  let  them  do  so?  especially  when  the 
result  is  the  raison  d'ete  of  the  white  man's  intrusion 
upon  the  black  man  ! 

To  gather  rubber  is  no  easy  task.  It  has  cost  millions 
of  lives  and  it  will  continue  to  cost  more  annually  as 
the  difficulties  in  gathering  it  increase. 

It  grows  in  the  depths  of  the  almost  impenetrable 
jungles,  whose  noxious  effluvia  is  fatal  to  human  exis 
tence. 

With  mat elicit es,  Huntingdon's  guides  and  servants 
forced  a  path  through  the  labyrinth  of  climbing  vines, 
gigantic  shrubs,  endless  creepers  and  hosts  of  parasitical 
and  other  luxurious  tropical  growth  which  above,  below 
and  all  about  resented  their  intrusion. 

Progress  was  slow ;  torturesome.  Now  up  to  the  waist 
in  slimy,  thick  vegetable  mold ;  now  clinging  to  stout 
vines  to  keep  a  balance ;  now  thrown  upon  creeping, 
crawling,  hateful  feeling  denizens  of  the  undergrowth 
by  the  giving  way  of  what  appeared  to  be  strong  sup 
ports  ;  now  on  all  fours  creeping  cautiously  along  over 
decaying  underbush  and  leaf  mold ;  or  crawling  nerv 
ously  and  painfully  along  a  fallen  tree  throttled  and 
borne  to  the  earth  by  the  very  vines  it  had  succored 
and  supported,  the  carriers  struggled  with  loads  on 
their  heads  and  Huntingdon  crawled  after  them  ! 

No  word  was  spoken.  All  energy  was  needed  for 
locomotion,  self-preservation. 

Heat,  heat,  everywhere  —  the  humid,  suffocating  heat 
of  the  exuding  humors  of  the  sick  and  dying  vegetable 
kingdom  —  a  weight  on  the  human  breast  as  though 
some  nocturnal  beast  were  sucking  from  the  lungs  the 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  283 

little  air  stolen  by  them  from  the  atmosphere  of  corrup 
tion  all  about.  Wave  after  wave  of  fetid  vapors  en 
gulfed  Huntingdon ;  silently,  stealthily,  viciously,  glut 
tonously  and  all  the  more  terrible  because  they  had  no 
shape  and  could  not  be  guarded  against.  Hydraheaded 
monsters  they  Avere  abroad  in  Nature's  most  riotous  gar 
den,  where  is  fought  the  terrible,  relentless,  perpetual 
battle  of  the  survival  of  the  fittest,  where  out  of  the  dis 
solution  of  millions  are  born  the  conquering  thousands ! 

Finally,  the  via  dolorosa  lead  into  a  rubber  camp  and 
Hell  was  at  hand ! 

In  that  eternal  gloom  of  pestiferous  depths,  shunned 
by  all  healthy  things,  little  children,  men  and  women  m 
the  flower  of  their  youth,  mothers  with  babes  strapped 
to  their  backs,  decrepit  old  men  and  old  women,  gathered 
the  viscid  matter  called  rubber!  Their  movements  were 
listless  and  mechanical  —  they  were  as  doomed  souls 
serving  an  endless  penance.  Fever  was  in  their  eyes, 
rheumatism  in  their  joints,  the  chill  of  malaria  in  their 
veins  and  their  life  forces  oozed  drop  by  drop  in  the 
sweat  of  exhaustion  that  bathed  their  almost  nude  bodies! 

From  its  perch  on  its  mother's  back,  a  baby  cried  as 
the  mother  inadvertently  thrust  its  tender  eye  against 
a  jagged  leaf ! 

A  little  girl,  not  more  than  four  years  old  and  inno 
cent  of  drapery,  tottered  under  the  weight  of  a  calabash 
filled  with  drinking  water! 

A  woman,  hollow-eyed  and  delicate,  patiently  lighted 
her  master's  pipe,  then  sank  listlessly  among  the  dank 
underbrush,  to  arise  again  when  the  pipe  was  handed 
her  for  replenishing  and  lighting.  She  was  too  far 
spent  to  do  anything  else ! 


284  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

In  iron  kettles  on  wood  fires  manioc  was  boiling.  And 
in  the  embers  green  plantains  were  roasting. 

About  the  fires,  stretched  on  mats  damp  as  the  very 
earth  itself,  lay  the  exhausted,  the  sick,  the  dying! 
Three  were  already  dead  and  two  men  were  making 
rude  litters  to  convey  the  deceased  back  to  Iheir  native 
towns  —  perhaps  a  week's  journey  away. 

New  odors  offended  the  already  weakened  nostrils. 
They  outstenched  even  vegetation's  mold,  for  decaying 
human  flesh  and  the  living  sick  body  have  smells  dis 
tinctly  their  own. 

In  that  reeking,  deadly  atmosphere  a  little  girl  was 
born  but  a  few  hours  since  !  She  lay  on  a  mat,  uncovered 
and  unattended,  while  flies,  ants,  spiders  and  other  crawl 
ing  pests  fed  on  her  tender  new  flesh !  The  mother  had 
again  taken  her  place  among  the  laborers.  In  piles  lay 
the  rubber  —  a  dirty  blue-white,  roughly  kneaded  into 
small  balls. 

Huntingdon  had  not  protested  had  the  natives  rushed 
upon  and  killed  him  for  he  was  of  tlie  race  that  compelled 
their  drudgery.  But  even  as  he  closed  his  eyes,  no  longer 
able  to  look  upon  the  uncanny  tragedy,  the  natives 
were  upon  him,  not  with  blows  and  curses  but  with  smiles 
and  hospitality's  greetings! 

From  somewhere  new  grass  mats  were  brought  and  a 
roughly  carved  ebony  stool. 

Children,  at  the  first  sight  of  the  white  man,  shrieked 
in  terror  and  hid  behind  their  mothers,  while  over  older 
faces,  accustomed  only  to  endurance's  stony  stare,  came 
a  slow  smile,  all  the  more  pathetic  because  it  was  so 
short-lived ! 

It  is  this  very  rubber  —  rubber  gathered  at  the  ex- 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  285 

pense  of  human  suffering,  human  life, —  that  the  white 
man  decries  as  worthless,  and  to  the  gatherer  gives  a 
less  reward  than  he  tips  a  well-fed  and  well-clothed 
waiter  who  serves  him  for  a  brief  moment  of  time!  It 
is  this  very  rubber  —  or  the  want  of  it  —  which  must 
bear  the  brunt  of  all  the  sins  of  commission  and  omission 
of  the  French  Government  and  on  which  is  blamed  the 
annihilating  conditions  existing  to-day  in  the  Congo 
Franfais. 

Thief-palaver  is  what  the  natives  term  the  action  of 
the  French. 

Nothing  for  nothing  is  the  dictum  of  righteousness. 
Nothing  for  nothing  is  the  great  law.  Can  any  one  set 
of  people  deny  all  right?  The  French  rob  the  natives 
and  continue  to  rob  them.  They  are  left  nothing,  yet 
out  of  nothing  they  are  expected  to  pay  something ! 
As  Smithson  had  said  it  is  an  impossible  condition,  and 
something  must  give  way.  "  The  native  is  crushed  to 
the  earth  and  never  rises  again." 

"  France  in  her  greed  kills  the  goose  that  lays  the 
golden  eggs.  She  might  find  other  geese,  but  who  can 
resuscitate  the  dead  ones  ?  "  Aye,  Smithson  knew  where 
of  he  spoke ! 

Huntingdon  also  recalled  the  argument  between  Cap 
tain  Haywood,  the  soldier,  and  Longworthy,  the  man  of 
trade. 

"  After  all,  who  reaps  the  reward  of  Africa?  "  Hay- 
wood  had  demanded.  "  Why,  the  white  man.  Work  is 
alien  to  the  native.  We  force  him  to  it,  and  none  too 
gently,  either.  The  fact  that  he  works  for  us  at  all, 
that  he  permits  us  to  remain  in  his  country,  ought  at 
least  to  earn  some  consideration  for  him." 


286  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Longworthy  raged  in  reply :  "  If  colonies  were  built 
on  justice,  there'd  be  no  colonies,"  or  words  to  that  effect. 

Those  were  Sadler's  views  too,  when  Huntingdon  told 
him  what  he  had  learned  throughout  the  bush. 

"  None  of  it's  new  to  me,"  said  the  little  skipper ; 
"  and  don't  imagine,  Huntingdon,  that  you  can  change 
things  one  bit,  out  here.  You  can't.  We  British  have 
been  butted  out  in  some  districts  and  we  got  damages 
from  the  Pomme-de-terre-frits,  but  damages  are  nothing 
to  our  loss  of  trade.  But  take  my  advice,  old  man :  get 
all  you  can  out  of  the  niggers  and  the  Pomme-de-terre- 
frits.  Their  hoggish  concessions  are  continuing  to  go 
to  the  wall  and  Smithson  was  right  when  he  advised  you 
to  jump  in  and  secure  them." 

"  I'm  doing  my  best,  Sadler.  I  wrote  home  the  next 
boat  after  Smithson  gave  me  the  tip  and  the  next  mail 
ought  to  bring  me  some  definite  news." 

And  it  did.  Huntingdon's  agents  in  Paris  had  suc 
ceeded  in  getting  control  of  French  concessions  at 
Mboue,  Ninga  Sika,  and  Agouma. 

French  traders  continued  in  charge  of  the  factories, 
but  Huntingdon  himself  visited  them  frequently  and 
watched  his  own  interests  closely.  As  Smithson  had 
predicted,  natives  came  from  all  directions  and,  demand 
ing  work,  were  eager  to  serve  the  Great  White  King  and 
bring  him  the  products  of  their  country.  The  old  stand 
ard  wages  were  restored ;  trade  goods  were  the  same 
prices  as  at  the  coast ;  native  products  recovered  their 
standard  values ;  barter  and  sale  were  as  they  had  been 
before  monopoly  gripped  the  land.  Universal  was  the 
demand  for  Virginia  leaf  tobacco ;  it  was  the  greatest 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  287 

medium  of  exchange  and  Huntingdon  marveled  why 
direct  American  trade  had  not  come  to  the  coast. 

Experienced  planters  were  sent  out  from  Europe ; 
every  foot  of  Huntingdon's  territory  was  put  under 
cultivation,  principally  with  rubber  vines,  lime  trees, 
cacao  and  ground  nuts.  Native  foods  were  also  grown 
in  profusion  and  the  great  vegetable  garden  at  Ninga 
Sika  was  revived.  This  island  had  been  first  cultivated 
over  a  half  century  ago  by  one  Lawler,  a  Yankee  trader, 
and  near  it  were  the  towns  built  and  occupied  by  Paul 
du  Chaillu.  Any  white  man  could  have  vegetables  for 
the  sending  and  many  of  them  availed  themselves  of 
Huntingdon's  generosity.  Vegetables  also  found  their 
way  to  Madame  Leon  at  Lambarene  and  to  little  Sadler. 
Moore  and  the  other  white  men  of  Cape  Lopez  were  also 
supplied. 

As  the  business  increased,  native  clerks  were  secured 
from  the  British  Government  at  Sierra  Leone,  and  for 
the  first  time  in  years  the  Fernand-Vaz,  the  Rembo  and 
the  Bakclai  rivers  resounded  with  their  old-time  activity. 
Again  the  happy  song  of  the  paddlers  reverberated  from 
shore  to  shore.  Abandoned  towns  were  again  occupied. 
Native  plantations  were  again  made ! 

Huntingdon's  first  shipment  of  logs  on  the  Nigeria 
was  the  largest  that  ever  left  Cape  Lopez.  Skipper 
Hains  and  Sadler  rejoiced  as  much  as  did  Huntingdon 
and  the  occasion  was  turned  into  a  general  festival. 
Again  Huntingdon  was  lavish  with  gifts  to  the  natives 
and  in  his  entertainment  of  the  white  men. 

Huntingdon  was  now  the  gossip  of  the  entire  west 
coast  and  the  only  truthful  thing  said  of  him  by  white 


288  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

men  were  his  ever  increasing  trade  and  his  continued 
popularity  with  the  natives.  He  was  indeed  their  Great 
White  King.  He  continued  to  judge  their  palavers ;  he 
paid  the  taxes  of  the  old  and  the  infirm  but  able-bodied 
men  were  put  to  work  and  willingly  and  well  they 
worked. 

No  hatred  so  deep  and  relentless  as  that  of  jealousy 
and  envy.  Had  the  gossip  of  the  other  white  traders 
ever  come  to  Huntingdon's  ears,  there  had  been  murder 
at  Cape  Lopez,  for  the  tales  they  spread  about  him  were 
dastardly  in  the  extreme. 

Huntingdon,  however,  was  sublimely  unconscious  of 
everything  save  the  progress  he  was  making  and  the 
flight  of  time. 

Two  years  were  numbered  with  the  past  and  only  one 
year  of  service  remained. 

But  the  struggle  was  telling  on  the  white  man.  Africa 
besieged  him  in  every  possible  manner.  Daily  the  lan 
guor  within  him  grew ;  he  was  weary,  so  utterly  weary ! 

More  frequent  were  attacks  of  fever;  he  crowded  on 
more  quinine. 

He  who  had  never  before  felt  ache  or  pain  became  a 
hospital  of  ills ;  movement  was  misery,  to  remain  still 
was  agony. 

Tornadoes  were  again  raging. 

The  days  were  monotonous ;  the  nights  interminable. 

The  heat  and  the  mosquitoes  Avere  maddening. 

For  the  first  time  Huntingdon  had  to  admit  that 
Africa  was  what  the  sour-dough  men  had  labeled  her: 
just  plain  hell. 

Monks  of  old  flayed  their  flesh  to  kill  desire. 

Huntingdon  dulled  his  by  fatiguing  walks  through 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  289 

almost  impassable  bush  with  Nkombi  Kakhi  and  Ogula, 
the  shootman. 

He  sank  deep  in  mire  —  sometimes  to  his  very  arm 
pits. 

Complete  exhaustion  earned  him  a  few  hours'  uncon 
sciousness  during  the  interminable  hours  of  the  tropical 
night,  but  the  curse  of  loneliness  was  upon  him. 

Little  Sadler's  first  term  of  service  had  expired  and 
he  was  in  Europe  for  rest.  How  Huntingdon  missed 
him !  And  the  Douane!  If  thought  and  longing  could 
recall  the  dead,  then  would  have  the  Creole  come  to  his 
friend,  but,  alas,  mortal  mind  might  get  some  comfort 
in  retrospection,  but  it  cannot  reincarnate  those  who 
have  shed  this  mortal  coil.  The  white  men  of  Cape 
Lopez  never  called  upon  Huntingdon,  save  to  borrow 
money  with  which  to  pay  gambling  debts,  rental  on 
native  women  and  to  make  up  shortages  to  their  re 
spective  firms.  Huntingdon  never  failed  them.  He 
who  was  suffering  so  keenly  could  put  himself  in  the 
place  of  other  sufferers  and  he  could  not  be  other  than 
kind. 

Huntingdon's  mail,  too,  had  gradually  fallen  off. 
Of  the  compognons  de  voyage  he  heard  only  from  Wal 
lace,  and  the  old  coaster's  letters  depressed  rather  than 
cheered. 

Huntingdon  could  not  possibly  have  endured  the  life 
had  it  not  been  for  his  beloved  and  her  letters.  But 
not  a  word  of  his  purgatory  did  he  write  to  her.  He 
spoke  only  of  the  passing  of  time  and  of  business.  The 
latter  was  slow  now  because  of  the  heavy  rains,  but  all 
signs  indicated  a  very  heavy  shipment  of  logs  and  in 
creased  business  in  general  the  coming  dry  season. 


290  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

In  the  midst  of  one  interminable  night,  Huntingdon 
could  have  cried  for  very  joy  when  Moore  sent  for  him. 
Chills  and  fever  were  shaking  the  life  out  of  Moore  and 
at  sight  of  Huntingdon,  he  immediately  went  off  into 
delirium.  Huntingdon  not  only  tenderly  nursed  Moore 
but  took  complete  charge  of  his  factory,  leaving  Mbega 
to  look  after  his  own.  Moore  acknowledged  that  he 
owed  his  life  to  Huntingdon,  but  Huntingdon  made  little 
of  his  services  and  assured  Moore  that  he,  Moore,  would 
do  as  much  for  Huntingdon  or  any  other  white  man 
who  was  in  distress.  For  a  few  weeks  following  his 
recovery  Moore  sought  Huntingdon  continuously,  then 
abruptly  he  absented  himself  and  again  Huntingdon  was 
left  to  self  and  monotony. 

April  came. 

Huntingdon  had  no  desire  for  food.  He  slept  only 
under  the  influence  of  opiates.  He  drank  deeply,  too. 
Daily,  his  only  exercise  was  the  short  walk  from  bunga 
low  to  factory.  Once  in  a  while  he  managed  to  get  as 
far  as  the  post  office. 

It  was  endurance,  stiff,  determined  endurance.  He 
shut  his  jaws  tight.  He  swore  to  endure  —  to  the  end. 
There  was  some  life  in  the  factory  and  he  sought  it- 
He  let  Mbega  go  for  the  day ;  the  boij  had  been  faithful 
and  had  not  had  a  holiday  in  a  long  while. 

A  man  and  a  woman  came  to  trade. 

"  Lemme  look  them  stink  water,"  the  man  demanded, 
indicating  perfume  in  the  show  case. 

He  put  the  bottle  to  his  nose  and  sniffed  vigorously. 

"  He  be  plenty  strong,  too  much?  " 

"  Proper  fine,"  answered  Huntingdon. 

"  How  much  he  be?  " 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  291 

"  Foura  mbani  —  two  francs." 

For  five  long  minutes  the  man  and  woman  discussed 
the  price  in  their  native  tongue. 

"  You  no  got  one  shilling  bottle?  "  asked  the  native. 

Huntingdon  brought  forth  another  bottle  from  the 
case. 

"  Him  be  plenty  fine;  strong,  too  much?  " 

"  Proper  fine,"  answered  Huntingdon,  patiently. 

"  How  much  he  be?  " 

"  One  shilling." 

"  You  no  got  him  for  dee  sous?  " 

"  One  shilling,"  answered  Huntingdon,  forcing  him 
self  to  patience. 

Again  a  consultation  between  the  natives. 

Finally  the  bottle  was  handed  to  the  woman. 

The  man  slowly  untied  a  knot  in  a  handkerchief,  ex 
tracted  a  shilling,  slowly  retied  the  knot,  and  laid  the 
money  on  the  counter. 

Then,  after  pricing  nearly  everything  he  saw,  he 
grunted : 

"  Knife." 

A  jackknife  of  one  blade  was  handed  out. 

Again  long  conversation,  price  asked,  comments  made. 

Another  fumbling  with  the  kerchief  and  ten  sous  were 
laid  down. 

Again  an  inspection  of  the  factory,  a  lot  of  questions 
asked,  then  cloth  was  demanded. 

"  No  got  other  for  two  foura?  "  asked  the  native, 
after  several  cloths  were  shown  him. 

"  Take  um  or  lef  um,"  Huntingdon  cried  irritably. 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  rebelled,  but  it  didn't  affect 
the  native  in  the  least. 


292  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Again  came  the  jabbering  with  his  woman,  again  the 
process  of  extracting  money  from  the  kerchief,  retying 
it,  and  handing  the  cloth  to  the  woman. 

"  Tacco,"  next  demanded  the  man,  but  Huntingdon's 
patience  fled. 

"  No  live,"  he  cried,  shooing  the  man  and  woman  off, 
fastening  the  door  and  hurrying  to  the  bungalow. 

He  wanted  to  get  away  from  sight  or  sound  of  natives. 

He  found  Ngumbe  and  Makaya  fighting  over  a 
woman. 

Ngumbe  had  let  out  one  of  his  wives  to  Makaya  and 
Makaya  had  failed  to  pay  the  ten  sous  demanded. 

As  usual,  they  brought  the  palaver  before  the  white 
man. 

Heretofore  Huntingdon  had  always  listened  patiently 
to  palavers,  let  each  participant  have  his  say,  then  he 
rendered  a  just  decision. 

But  to-day  he  was  in  no  mood  for  anything,  save  to 
drop  on  a  divan,  to  give  up  to  the  Vampire  Languor  who 
gnawed  at  his  very  vitals. 

"  Master,"  Ngumbe  was  saying,  "  them  Loango  him 
tek  my  womans  for  him  bed,  me  I  lef  um  an'  he  dash 
me  dee  sous.  All  time  so  —  but  now  Loango  say  me, 
'  Ngumbe,  me  no  fit  pay  dee  sous.'  Loango  mek  thief- 
palaver  for  Ngumbe.  It  no  be  so,  Master?  " 

Infinitely  bored  and  irritable,  Huntingdon  harshly 
demanded  —  he  wanted  to  be  rid  of  the  whole  business  — 

"  What  have  you  got  to  say,  Makaya?  " 

"  Me?  "  and  Makaya  came  forward  in  his  greasy 
glide.  "  Master  look.  I  tek  him  womans,  it  be  so. 
All  time  I  pay  Ngumbe  dee  sous  —  it  be  so.  Now  free 
him  womans  born  picJcens.  Them  be  my  part.  Womans 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  293 

—  that's  what  them  pickens  all  be  —  they  be  all  same 
argent.  Ngumbe  fit  for  sell  'im  when  piclcens 
ketch  proper  big.  Me,  fadder  for  them  pickens,  bring 
argent  mpolo,  magnifique  to  Ngumbe.  He  be  proper 
rich  when  him  sell  him  pickens  to  mens.  Me,  I  never 
owe  him  argent,  him  got  proper  dee  sous  mpolo  in  them 
pickens,  it  no  be  so,  master?  " 

"  Get  out,  both  of  you,"  cried  Huntingdon.  "  Fight 
it  out  between  you.  I  don't  care  a  damn  what  you  do. 
Get  out  of  my  sight.  I'm  sick  of  your  eternal  mammy- 
palaver  and  greediness ! " 

Great  was  the  gossip  among  the  white  men  at  Hunt 
ingdon's  action.  It  was  reported  far  and  wide.  Oh, 
yes,  Huntingdon,  the  great  Anglais  was  going  the  way 
of  Africa  all  right.  'Twould  not  be  long  noAv  until  he 
was  thoroughly  subjugated! 

Several  days  later  Chief  Ragundo  with  a  retinue 
came  to  Huntingdon  with  a  palaver. 

Again  woman  was  the  cause  of  the  dispute. 

It  was  hours  before  Huntingdon  got  the  gist  of  the 
affair. 

A  native  had  stolen  one  of  Chief  Ragundo's  daughters. 
He  didn't  pay  for  her.  A  native  counsel  was  called. 
Chief  Ragundo  had  rendered  decision.  The  nose  of 
the  offender  was  cut  off,  the  woman  was  flogged  severely. 
With  unheard-of  audacity  she  had  gone  to  the  Comman 
dant  to  complain  of  being  beaten.  It  is  against  the  law 
of  France  to  flog  women.  The  Commandant  had  sum 
moned  Chief  Ragundo  to  the  post.  Ragundo  defended 
that  he  owned  the  woman,  she  was  goods  and  chattels  to 
be  disposed  of  as  he  wished,  to  be  punished  or  rewarded 
as  he  wished,  as  was  the  custom  of  his  people  from  time 


294  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

out  of  mind.  But  the  Commandant  would  not  accept 
his  defense.  He  fined  Chief  Ragundo  ten  francs.  Un 
less  the  Great  White  King  loaned  his  good  friend,  Chief 
Ragundo,  the  money,  the  chief  would  have  to  go  to  jail. 

Huntingdon  was  only  too  glad  to  donate  the  money 
and  be  rid  of  the  whole  gang. 

Then  acute  languor  claimed  him.  For  days  he  re 
clined  on  the  divan  on  the  veranda. 

He  knew  Mbega  would  faithfully  look  after  the  fac 
tory,  but  Makaya  and  Ngumbe  took  advantage  of  their 
master's  weakness. 

The  house  was  neglected  and  filthy.  Makaya  drank 
a  great  deal ;  he  used  only  canned  foods ;  they  were  sent 
in  wretchedly  cooked  and  never  on  time.  Ngumbe  at 
tended  table  clad  only  in  a  cloth  and  reeking  with  the 
boquet  d'Afrique. 

Huntingdon  had  not  a  coat  with  a  button  on ;  his 
clothing  were  a  wretched  color,  indifferently  ironed  and 
scorched  and  in  general  badly  used.  But  he  had  no 
idea  of  his  unkempt  appearance ;  he  concentrated  upon 
the  passing  of  time ;  he  forced  his  thoughts  to  civili 
zation  ;  his  only  letters  were  to  the  woman  he  loved  and 
to  his  father  about  business. 

At  last  May  came. 

The  rains  stopped.     Thank  God ! 

Huntingdon  welcomed  cooler  breezes  and  clear  skies. 
He  ordered  his  guns  brought  forth,  cleansed  and  primed. 

With  Ogula,  the  shootman,  and  Nkombi  Kakhi,  his 
brother,  he  set  out  to  hunt. 

Not  only  was  the  bush  impenetrable,  but  the  exertion 
of  getting  there  was  too  much  for  him  and  he  was  com 
pelled  to  return  immediately. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  295 

Again  came  inaction,  thought  and  forced  endurance. 

Patiently  he  waited  until  the  middle  of  June. 

Again  he  set  forth,  but  again  fatigue  and  languor 
sent  him  home.  He  was  soft  from  the  long  wet,  the 
heat,  repeated  fever,  improper  food  and  no  exercise. 
He  would  be  all  right  when  the  dry  season  advanced, 
as  the  winds  grew  cooler. 

Winds  grew  cooler  and  Huntingdon  shivered  with  cold. 
He,  who  just  two  years  before  had  laughed  so  when 
Smithson  had  demanded  if  he  had  brought  out  blankets, 
needed  blankets  and  plenty  of  them ;  he  was  nervous, 
irritable,  weak  and  sick! 

August  came  for  the  third  time  and  with  it  the  Dwarf. 
Again  a  great  hunt  was  organized,  but  Huntingdon  was 
the  first  to  drop  out. 

Again  the  rains  and  mosquitoes  and  monotony  and  in 
creased  attacks  of  fever.  But  Huntingdon  was  on  the 
homeward  stretch  and  he  literally  flogged  himself  into 
action. 

Daily  he  worshiped  at  the  shrine  of  the  woman  he 
loved.  He  made  a  litany  of  her  parting  words  and 
repeated  them  when  endurance  was  at  bursting  point: 

Forget  you,  my  Love  of  Loves.  I  should  forget  to 
breathe  first! 

He  nurtured  her  kisses  upon  his  lips. 

He  strove  and  endured,  strove  and  endured ! 

Only  eight  months  more !  Only  eight  months  more, 
then  Marjorie  and  release! 


'TWAS  the  middle  of  November. 

The  Plains  of  Mandji  and  the  great  stretches  of 
primeval  forests,  and  even  the  sea,  had  long  since  lost 
their  charms !  They  were  the  same,  always  the  same. 
Day  after  day,  at  a  certain  hour,  the  sun  was  at  the 
same  spot  in  the  heavens.  Day  and  night  came  and 
went  with  monotonous  regularity.  Sunset  at  six,  sun 
rise  at  six.  Eternal  sameness,  eternal  repetition,  soul- 
destroying  to  an  active  temperament  bred  in  the  rush 
and  roar  and  rattle  of  civilization. 

Huntingdon  could  not  bear  it  longer!  He  must  seek 
change  or  go  mad! 

Pie  would  go  to  the  Fernand-Vaz.  He  would  again 
make  personal  calls  on  chiefs.  He  would  stimulate 
them  to  cut  more  logs.  Above  all,  he  would  get  away 
from  the  monotony  of  Cape  Lopez. 

'Twas  raining.  The  water  fell  like  polished  drill 
rods,  in  straight,  incessant  streams.  The  sun  shone  and 
grilled  and  maddened. 

Across  the  Bay  at  the  Village  of  Sangatanga,  Chief 
Ogandaga  advised  Huntingdon  to  leave  his  big  canoe 
and  take  a  smaller  one  —  a  dugout.  It  would  make 
better  time  over  narrow  streams  and  would  take  him 
into  territory  not  yet  penetrated  by  white  man. 

A  pilot  familiar  with  the  waterways  and  country  was 
absolutely  necessary. 

296 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  297 

Chief  Ogandaga  regretted  his  inability  to  accompany 
Huntingdon.  The  Commandant  had  summoned  him  to 
a  palaver  at  Cape  Lopez  and  he  must  obey.  But  he 
offered  his  son-in-law,  Nagesa,  as  pilot,  steersman  and 
interpreter. 

Huntingdon's  own  canoe  and  men  were  returned  to 
Cape  Lopez.  Makaya  and  Ngumbe  alone  were  retained. 

Ogandaga's  men  were  ugly,  repulsive,  rather  squat, 
and  not  at  all  confidence  begetting.  None  of  them 
spoke  English,  but  Ngumbe  could  interpret. 

The  canoe  was  long  and  narrow  and  in  the  stern 
was  a  small  deck  house  which  kept  out  rain,  and  afforded 
shade. 

Huntingdon  had  been  traveling  for  two  days.  It  had 
been  raining  furiously.  Nights  had  been  spent  in 
small,  wretched,  uncomfortable  towns.  There  were  the 
eternal  begging  palavers  and  maledictions  against  the 
French ;  the  eternal  forcing  of  native  women  upon  him ; 
his  increasing  bribes  to  drive  them  off. 

On  the  third  day,  towards  noon,  rains  ceased  tempora 
rily.  .  The  sun  came  out  brilliant  and  hot. 

Formerly  canoeing  had  interested  Huntingdon ;  he 
enjoyed  it  thoroughly ;  he  was  entranced  with  the  beauty 
of  the  country. 

But  all  was  changed  now. 

The  journey  was  irksome,  dreadfully  so,  and  he  never 
so  much  as  glanced  at  the  country. 

For  hours  he  sat  inert  or  lay  doubled  up  in  the  deck 
house,  which  was  too  short  to  permit  his  stretching  at 
full  length. 

From  time  to  time  the  paddlers  called  his  attention  to 
monkeys  scampering  from  tree  to  tree.  Huntingdon 


298  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

knew  a  little  more  about  monkeys  now.  They  never 
throw  cocoanuts  at  passers-by.  They  are  extremely 
timid  and  hard  to  approach. 

Suddenly  Nagesa  drew  Huntingdon's  attention  to 
a  herd  of  hippopotami  on  a  bank  some  yards  distant 
ahead. 

Huntingdon  was  immediately   interested. 

He  sighted,  fired,  and  a  big  beast  dived  backward 
into  the  water,  followed  by  the  others. 

He  commanded  Nagesa  to  draw  near  the  bank  and  wait 
for  the  injured  beast  to  come  up. 

To  Huntingdon's  surprise,  there  was  consternation 
among  the  natives. 

They  questioned  each  other  with  their  eyes. 

Nagesa  answered  his  brothers  by  deliberately  steering 
away  from  the  hippopotami ! 

It  was  the  first  insubordination  offered  Huntingdon. 
He  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  it. 

He  was  miles  away  from  anywhere,  with  strange, 
superstitious  savages.  Makaya  was  a  coward  and 
would  not  fight  if  he  had  a  whole  arsenal  of  arms  and 
knew  how  to  use  them.  Ngumbe  was  faithful,  but 
would  he  have  the  courage  to  take  a  stand  against  such 
an  overwhelming  number  of  his  brothers?  Huntingdon 
feared  not. 

Yet  Huntingdon's  blood  warmed  to  the  adventure. 
He  was  numb  from  the  narrow  quarters  of  the  canoe  and 
a  bit  of  excitement  was  welcome.  He  felt  that  it  was 
coming. 

Nagesa  said  something  in  the  Ouroungo  tongue. 

The  paddlers  commenced  to  chatter  like  a  lot  of 
monkeys,  while  they  stroked  as  hard  as  they  could. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  299 

"  Silence !  "  thundered  Huntingdon. 

So  short  and  stern  was  the  command,  that  every  negro 
turned  to  look  upon  the  white  man. 

"  Look  them  river  horse  for  back !  "  was  Huntingdon's 
next  command. 

Not  a  man  obeyed !  Instead  they  rested  on  their 
paddles  and  gazed  sullenly  at  Huntingdon. 

Huntingdon  felt  like  blowing  off  every  negro's  head. 
But  he  knew  that  would  never  do. 

He  laid  his  rifle  across  his  knee  and  lighted  his  pipe 
—  he  was  thinking,  thinking,  wondering  what  was  the 
best  move  to  make. 

Again    came    the    jabbering    among    the    paddlers. 

They  were  arguing  something,  pointing  wildly  to 
wards  the  clump  of  bushes  in  front  of  which  the  hippo 
potami  had  dived  and  the  other  shore  distant  only  a  few 
feet  from  the  nose  of  the  canoe. 

Suddenly  there  came  an  exclamation  of  terror  from 
one  of  the  paddlers !  Away  shot  the  canoe  as  though 
the  very  devil  were  after  it  1 

The  men  pulled  upstream  like  mad  and  in  deep 
silence  for  full  twenty  minutes.  The  mutiny  aroused  all 
Huntingdon's  fighting  blood  and  he  prepared  for  action, 
silently  and  deftly  so  that  the  savages  would  not  suspect 
his  purpose. 

He  continued  to  lean  against  the  left  upright  of  the 
deck  house.  It  permitted  him  to  keep  one  eye  on 
Nagesa  behind  him  and  the  other  on  the  paddlers  in 
front.  He  was  higher  than  the  paddlers,  and  stealthily 
he  braced  his  repeating  rifle  with  his  knee  until  the  gun 
covered  them.  His  left  hand  was  ready  to  grasp  his 
revolver,  the  holster  of  which  he  had  worked  to  his  left 


300  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

side  by  rubbing  against  the  deck  house.  At  the  first 
sign  of  danger  to  himself  he  would  kill  Nagesa  and  the 
rest  would  be  easy  —  for  the  other  savages  were  in  front 
of  him. 

But  his  intention  was  checkmated. 

Nagesa  said  something  to  Ngumbe,  and,  to  Hunting 
don's  great  surprise,  Ngumbe  crawled  aft  along  the  gun 
wale  and  squatted  alongside  Nagesa.  The  space  was 
small  and  there  was  scarce  room  for  two  men ;  Ngumbe's 
knee,  therefore,  was  against  Huntingdon's  revolver  and 
prevented  its  use. 

Huntingdon  wanted  to  command  Ngumbe  to  return  to 
his  position,  and  more  than  ever  he  longed  to  question 
Nagesa. 

But  he  did  neither. 

Apparently  careless  and  indifferent  he  sat  there,  but 
every  sense  was  alert  attending  the  next  move  of  the 
savages. 

He  wondered  if  he  could  get  Ngumbe  and  Nagesa  with 
the  same  bullet.  He  could,  if  he  would  aim  now  —  but 
that  would  be  senseless. 

Yet  if  he  waited  until  danger  threatened  his  person, 
'twould  be  too  late.  Ngumbe  would  grab  his  left  arm 
and  Huntingdon  would  be  powerless. 

Would  Ngumbe  dare  lay  hands  on  him?  Ngumbe 
would  be  foolhardy  to  offer  him  bodily  hurt  when  secret 
poison  was  as  effective  and  less  liable  to  discovery. 

Huntingdon  had  one  regret,  only  one :  and  it  was  in 
keeping  with  the  sang-froid  of  the  Bedford's  and  the 
Granvilles.  He  wished  he  were  clothed  in  fresh  white 
duck  instead  of  ragged  khaki.  A  corpse  looks  so  much 
better  in  white! 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  301 

Suddenly  the  speed  of  the  canoe  was  slackened  and 
she  came  to  a  standstill  amid  stream. 

'Twas  the  Agule  branch  of  the  Ogowe  River.  It  was 
narrow,  lined  on  both  sides  by  papyrus  and  other  high 
reeds,  and  backed  by  the  dense  growth  of  the  equatorial 
forests. 

Not  a  canoe  rested  on  either  bank,  indicating  a  near-by 
village. 

Not  a  canoe  was  visible  on  the  water  —  and  day  was 
fast  dying.  Suddenly,  fatigue  overpowered  Hunting 
don  ;  he  had  fever ;  he  was  alternately  hot  and  cold ;  his 
eyes  burned  and  with  difficulty  he  kept  them  open. 

Oh,  bother  the  palaver! 

Let  the  savages  go  hang ! 

He  leaned  back  and  closed  his  eyes.  He  gave  him 
self  up  to  languor. 

Suddenly  the  strong  smell  of  mission-grown  tobacco 
assailed  his  nostrils. 

"  Put  out  that  pipe,"  he  commanded  roughly,  sitting 
upright. 

The  paddlers  stared  at  Huntingdon.  Surprise  was 
big  in  their  faces. 

They  had  always  smoked ;  it  was  customary  to  smoke 
in  a  canoe. 

But  it  was  not  customary  to  smoke  in  Huntingdon's 
canoe.  He  never  permitted  a  servant  to  smoke  in  his 
presence.  The  paddlers  did  not  know  this,  of  course, 
and  Huntingdon  never  suspicioned  that  they  did  not 
know  it. 

Hence  the  astonishment  at  the  command. 

Huntingdon  saw  only  continued  mutiny  and  insolence 
in  the  stares  of  the  savages. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Quick  as  a  flash  he  raised  his  rifle,  and  sighted.  From 
the  mouth  of  the  smoker  the  pipe  fell,  cracked  into  bits ! 

Huntingdon  felt  that  he  was  in  for  it.  At  the  risk 
of  upsetting  the  canoe  he  deliberately  turned  broadsides, 
he  held  his  revolver  aft,  the  rifle  pointing  forward. 

Again  the  excited  jabbering  among  the  natives ! 

Huntingdon  could  not  interpret  one  word  they  said! 

Were  they  discussing  which  was  the  quickest  and  best 
way  to  kill  him? 

But  as  he  braced  himself  for  the  fight,  to  his  horror, 
he  felt  his  muscles  again  relaxing,  languor  held  him  in 
a  vice  and  he  wanted  to  sleep! 

To  sleep! 

Huntingdon  straightened  himself  with  a  jerk. 

Had  Makaya,  Ngumbe  fed  him  poison ! 

He  imagined  he  saw  a  look  of  triumph  on  Makaya's 
ugly,  shriveled  face.  He  imagined  the  reason  of 
Ngumbe's  seating  himself  aft  of  him. 

When  the  drug  overcame  him,  Ngumbe  was  to  keep 
him  from  falling  into  the  water,  so  as  not  to  endanger 
the  loss  of  his  guns  ! 

Marjorie!  flashed  through  Huntingdon's  brain ! 

For  himself  he  felt  rather  knocked-up  for  fight,  but 
he  didn't  belong  to  himself,  he  had  to  consider  her. 

"  Ngumbe ! " 

Huntingdon's  voice  was  so  terrifying,  that  involun 
tarily  Ngumbe's  head  came  down  hard  on  Huntingdon's 
back. 

Huntingdon  imagined  it  the  beginning  of  attack ;  he 
hit  Ngumbe  over  the  head  with  the  butt  of  his  revolver, 
knocking  him  senseless,  and  causing  the  blood  to  flow 
from  his  scalp. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  303 

"  Makaya !  Down  flat  on  your  belly  or  I'll  riddle 
you  with  shot ! "  commanded  Huntingdon  in  French, 
which  the  others  did  not  understand. 

Makaya,  the  coward,  dropped  face  downward  in  the 
bottom  of  the  canoe. 

"  Two  less  against  me,"  muttered  Huntingdon. 

But  what  were  the  natives  jabbering  about? 

Why  didn't  they  attack  him  and  get  it  over  with? 

The  shadows  were  lengthening,  night  was  coming  on. 
Were  they  going  to  wait  and  make  way  with  him  in  the 
darkness  ? 

Not  if  he  knew  it. 

"  Nagesa,  make  for  shore !  " 

To  Huntingdon's  surprise,  the  fellow  instantly 
obeyed !  Willing  men  bent  over  paddles. 

What  savage  deviltry  was  up  now  ? 

Huntingdon  knew  he  would  have  to  bivouac  for  the 
night  in  the  inhospitable  bush  —  a  mangrove  swamp 
likely.  Would  his  dead  body  be  left  there,  food  for 
lean  vultures? 

Again  he  braced  himself  for  resistance.  He  would 
start  something.  He  did  not  like  the  way  things  were 
going. 

Just  then  the  canoe  came  foul  of  mud,  and  instantly 
every  paddler  was  overboard. 

They  paid  no  attention  to  the  insensible  Ngumbe  or 
to  the  frightened  Loango. 

Nagesa  leaped  over  the  gunwale  and  turned  his  back 
for  Huntingdon  to  mount. 

Huntingdon  spurned  the  man.  He  was  not  to  be 
caught  napping  that  way.  He  essayed  to  jump  into 
the  water,  intending  to  wade  ashore.  But  Nagesa  de- 


304  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

liberately  caught  him  by  the  arms  and  effectively  over 
powered  him! 

Huntingdon  kicked  savagely,  but  Nagesa  kept  on 
towards  the  bank. 

Suddenly,  Nagesa  fell  flat  and  Huntingdon  on  top  of 
him. 

Huntingdon  started  to  curse  roundly  at  the  impudence 
of  the  fellow's  daring  to  precipitate  him  into  the  muddy 
water,  but  the  words  froze  in  his  mouth,  at  the  sight 
which  met  his  gaze ! 

A  crocodile  darted  away  with  the  speed  of  an  arrow 
and  disappearing  down  his  jaws  was  a  human  leg! 

Huntingdon's  nerves  gave  way.  Unmindful  of  more 
crocodiles  and  of  other  dangers,  he  sat  waist  deep  in  the 
water  staring,  STARING,  STARING,  at  Nagesa  crawling  to 
shore,  his  right  leg  bitten  off  neat  at  the  knee  joint! 

The  paddlers  surrounded  Nagesa. 

Nagesa  spoke  rapidly. 

Huntingdon  forced  himself  to  crawl  to  shore. 

He  couldn't  understand  a  word  the  savages  said ! 

Now  they  were  sure  to  murder  him ! 

What  a  foolish  move  it  was  to  knock  Ngumbe  sense 
less! 

He  was  the  only  one  who  could  interpret  the  language 
of  the  Ouroungoes! 

The  blood  flowing1  from  Nagesa's  mutilated  knee 
brought  back  Huntingdon's  nerve.  The  man  must  have 
attention,  or  he  would  bleed  to  death ! 

"  Makaya,  Makaya,"  Huntingdon  shouted. 

Makaya  slouched  forward. 

"  Hurry,  you  nigger,  or  I'll  skin  you  alive,"  shouted 
Huntingdon  in  French. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  305 

Fear  lent  the  Loango  movement. 

"  Bring  medicine  kit,  one  time." 

A  lantern  was  lighted. 

Night  had  fallen. 

It  was  raining  again  and  the  humidity  was  growing 
thicker. 

The  dank  smell  of  the  swampy  ground,  the  nearness 
of  the  savages  and  the  fresh  blood  were  almost  too  much 
for  Huntingdon,  weak  as  he  was.  But  he  had  work  to 
do  —  he  must  stop  Nagesa's  blood  if  possible ! 

What  were  the  savages  jabbering  about? 

And  what  for  was  that  fool  Nagesa  wasting  his  fast 
waning  strength  in  mouth-palaver? 

Huntingdon  opened  his  surgical  case.  He  would  give 
the  fellow  a  powerful  hypodermic,  then  make  a  tourni 
quet  in  an  effort  to  stop  the  blood-flow. 

He  got  out  his  needle.  He  searched  for  morphine. 
He  advanced  towards  Nagesa,  then  suddenly  paused,  for 
out  of  the  shadows  came  a  whisper,  only  a  whisper  and 
it  was  in  French : 

"  Never  use  him,  Master,  never  use  him.  Black  man 
he  fear  white  man  magic!  " 

The  warning  came  from  Makaya,  Makaya,  the 
coward  f 

Huntingdon  was  NOT  TO  OFFER  TO  STOP  THE 
FLOW  OF  NAG^SA'S  LIFE  BLOOD ! 

Verily,  the  way  of  the  savage  was  beyond  his  civilized 
comprehension. 

And  why  did  Nagesa  not  stop  talking? 

"  Coffee,  Master?  "  questioned  Makaya,  as  though  he 
had  not  exactly  heard  his  master's  command. 

Huntingdon  had  not  given  any  command  —  he  had 


306  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

said  nothing.  Fatigue  and  sleep  were  again  besieging 
him. 

But  he  knew  that  Makaya  was  prompting  him  —  the 
Loango  would  save  him  —  if  salvation  were  possible. 

"  Yes,  coffee,  Makaya !  And  make  him  strong,  savvy, 
proper  strong,"  and  Huntingdon's  tones  conveyed  a 
threat. 

He  would  play  up  to  the  Loango.  The  savage  knew 
the  ways  of  his  brethren.  He  would  meet  their  cunning 
with  cunning! 

Huntingdon  was  aware  full  well  that  he  never  could 
win  out  alone  —  never ! 

He  knew  Nagesa  must  die  —  and  perhaps  Ngumbe 
was  already  dead. 

He  knew  the  law  of  the  savages  —  a  life  for  a  life. 

He  was  in  their  power ;  would  they  exact  the  penalty 
from  him  — his  blood  for  the  blood  of  their  brother? 

The  rain  was  coming  down  in  torrents. 

The  mosquitoes  descended  in  droves. 

Huntingdon  was  tortured  almost  to  madness. 

The  noise  of  the  rain  on  the  dense  overgrowth  was 
so  loud  that  wild  animals  could  approach  unheeded. 

If  he  had  to  go,  Huntingdon  preferred  the  beasts  to 
the  savages ;  no,  he  had  his  revolver.  Self  murder  were 
less  ignoble.  It  should  be  that  —  in  extremity. 

Then  he  made  a  startling  discovery. 

His  revolver  was  jammed  from  its  ducking  in  the 
stream! 

Neither  barrel  nor  trigger  would  move ! 

But  he  mustn't  let  the  savages  know  his  revolver  was 
useless ! 

His  scatter  gun  and  rifle  were  all  right,  but  they  were 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  307 

in  the  canoe.  The  savages  would  never  let  him  get  them 
• —  never ! 

Makaya  was  bending  low  over  a  fire  on  which  the  coffee 
kettle  commenced  to  boil. 

An  evil  looking  thing  he  appeared  over  the  fire's  red 
glow,  and  over  there  where  the  bleeding  man  lay  were 
the  shadows,  dense  shadows.  Huntingdon  could  not  see 
what  was  taking  place,  but  the  voices  were  less  loud, 
and  Nagesa's  had  stopped. 

The  rain  commenced  to  drip  through  the  dense  foliage 
overhead.  Huntingdon  was  shivering  with  cold. 

"  Makaya,  my  chair  from  the  canoe  and  my  rain 
coat." 

The  collapsible  chair  sunk  deep  in  the  soft  ground  as 
Huntingdon  sat  upon  it.  His  rain  coat  was  heavy,  but 
he  .forced  himself  to  endure  it. 

Makaya  brought  the  coffee. 

Huntingdon  and  Makaya  were  alone.  They,  too, 
were  in  the  shadows. 

Huntingdon  took  the  cup,  then  suddenly  thrust  it  to 
Makaya' s  mouth. 

"  Drink  !  "  was  all  he  said. 

Makaya  hesitated,  just  for  a  snap  shot  of  time,  but 
it  came  near  being  his  death  warrant. 

Huntingdon's  fingers  closed  on  the  negro's  windpipe. 
He  could  not  see  the  fellow's  face  —  the  night  was  too 
black  —  but  his  fingers  told  him  the  wretch  drank. 

Huntingdon  drained  the  cup  and  three  others  in  quick 
succession. 

The  warm  coffee  braced  him  up,  but  he  knew  it  would 
soon  pass  away.  He  needed  something  stronger,  and 
he  needed  food  badly. 


308  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

There  were  a  live  chicken  in  the  canoe  and  plenty  of 
other  chop. 

Makaya  must  cook  some  supper. 

But  what  were  the  savages  doing  over  there  in  the 
shadows ! 

Their  voices  had  ceased  all  together. 

Huntingdon  feared  their  silence  more  than  he  had 
their  excited  jabbering. 

Suddenly  an  Ouroungo  came  from  the  shadows  and 
said  one  word: 

"  Allumette." 

Huntingdon  gave  him  a  box  of  safety  matches,  the 
last  he  had  in  a  small  waterproof  case.  But  there  were 
more  matches  in  the  canoe. 

Yes,  there  were  many  things  in  the  canoe  Hunting 
don  would  like  to  have  —  his  scatter  gun,  for  instance. 

Makaya  could  get  it  in  the  darkness. 

But  could  he  wholly  trust  Makaya? 

Once  the  savages  suspected  Makaya,  he  Avas  done  for. 

Ngumbe  must  be  dead.  The  rain  would  have  revived 
him  e'er  this,  if  he  had  only  swooned. 

The  ground  was  so  wet  and  miry  that  the  Ouroungoes 
built  their  fires  in  the  forks  of  the  giant  mangroves. 
The  silvery  feelers  of  the  trees  were  gaunt  and  bare, 
like  skeleton's  claws  reaching  for  victims.  On  their 
twisted  branches  the  paddlers,  like  birds  of  evil,  perched, 
and  sullen  and  silent,  gazed  into  the  fires,  while  manioc 
boiled  merrily  in  iron  kettles. 

The  fires  intensified  the  weird  surroundings  and  en 
hanced  the  white  man's  nervousness. 

'Twas  an  uncanny  sight,  an  uncanny  spot. 

The  breath  of  the  swamp  was  heavy,  depressing,  the 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  309 

rain  came  down  in  torrents,  and,  now  and  then,  acute 
lightning  pierced  the  bush  and  ominous  thunder  growled. 

To  the  rear  was  dense,  impenetrable  jungle,  inhabited 
by  the  most  dangerous  of  beasts.  In  front  was  a 
rapidly  flowing,  muddy  stream  infested  by  crocodiles 
and  hippopotami.  Staring  sullenly  into  the  fires  were 
the  savages,  whom  Huntingdon  fancied  were  executioners 
waiting  to  dispatch  him. 

Suddenly  Huntingdon  imagined  that  great  snakes 
were  wriggling  towards  him.  He  moved  restlessly.  A 
branch  overhead  caught  his  hat. 

He  jumped  up.  He  was  sure  that  a  leopard  was 
about  to  drop  upon  or  a  savage  attack  him !  He  started 
to  run,  and  sank  knee  deep  into  the  mire,  from  which 
he  could  not  extricate  himself. 

The  thick  mud  and  loam  penetrated  his  khaki  cloth 
ing  and  soft  mosquito  boots ;  hordes  of  mosquitoes  at 
tacked  him ;  he  shook  with  chills ;  he  burned  with  fever. 

Nobody  paid  any  attention  to  him ! 

Makaya  was  taking  a  very  long  time  to  prepare  his 
master's  supper. 

And  nowr  the  Loango  had  disappeared.  Huntingdon 
again  imagined  a  stealthy  approach  from  his  rear. 

Held  fast  by  the  mire,  he  exerted  all  his  failing 
strength.  He  got  one  foot  free,  then,  grasping  a  branch 
of  a  tree,  he  Avrestled  the  other  from  the  clinging  mire 
and  slowly  crawled  to  the  tree's  fork,  from  whence  he  sat 
blinking  at  the  fires,  and  shivering  at  every  sound,  un 
conscious  of  the  fact  that  both  his  boots  were  left  stick 
ing  in  the  mud ! 

Well,  he  wanted  an  adventure  and  he  got  it. 

It  would  be  his  last  —  he  felt  confident  of  that. 


810  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Through  his  mind  troupcd  all  the  grewsome  tales  of 
the  old  coasters. 

They  spoke  truth  after  all.  They  knew  Africa.  It 
was  indeed  Hell's  Playground.  What  a  fool  he  was  to 
think  that  he  could  do  the  impossible:  wrestle  with  it, 
single  handed  and  alone. 

He  laughed  aloud,  like  a  thing  suddenly  gone  mad. 

Still  nobody  paid  any  attention  to  him. 

He  could  see  Makaya  now.  He  was  in  a  fork  of  a 
mangrove  just  a  little  bit  to  the  rear,  cooking  supper. 

My,  how  slow  the  nigger  was !  And  how  sleepy  Hunt 
ingdon  was !  If  he  only  dare  relax,  sleep  would  come 
on  the  instant ;  he  was  so  weary,  so  tired,  so  languid ! 
But  he  dare  not  sleep.  The  savages  would  be  sure  to 
murder  him  in  some  fashion  not  to  leave  any  traces,  then 
they  would  take  his  dead  body  back  to  Cape  Lopez  and 
swear  that  he  died  from  fever  and  exposure. 

He  knew  he  ought  to  have  quinine  and  stimulants  and 
blankets;  that  he  ought  to  return  to  the  canoe,  to  the 
shelter  of  its  deck  house  and  its  mosquito  bar,  but  he 
had  not  the  strength  to  call  Makaya,  he  could  only  stare 
at  the  fires  and  hope  to  keep  awake. 

Subconsciously,  he  wondered  what  Nagesa  was  doing 
over  there  in  the  shadows.  Was  the  life  blood  still  flow 
ing,  or  had  it  fled,  taking  the  fellow's  ghost  with  it? 

The  manioc  was  cooked  and  about  the  pots  the  Our- 
oungoes  gathered,  eating  ravenously,  in  eerie  silence. 
The  meal  finished,  pipes  were  lighted,  but  Huntingdon 
was  too  far  spent  to  remonstrate  against  anything 
the  savages  did,  except  to  attack  him,  and,  weak  though 
he  was,  he  prepared  to  defend  himself. 

How  could  he  repulse  them?     He  needed  some  weapon. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  311 

And  any  number  of  them  were  down  at  the  water's 
edge  in  the  canoe,  but  he  knew  he  never  could  get  them. 

Quietly  and  laboriously  he  unloosened  the  chair  from 
the  mire,  and  folded  it. 

When  Makaya  brought  his  food,  he  took  great  pains 
to  impress  upon  Makaya  what  a  delightful  table  the  chair 
made  across  his  knees  ! 

As  he  ate  the  rain  dripped  lively  upon  his  food.  But 
he  did  not  mind  it. 

He  ate  with  his  fingers  too,  this  scion  of  the  esthetic 
Bedfords  and  Granvilles,  this  erstwhile  dandy  of  May- 
fair  drawing-rooms. 

And  he  ate  what  he  knew  was  dirt,  too,  ravenously, 
faster  than  even  the  savages  had  eaten  their  simple  meal 
of  sour  manioc. 

Poor  devils ! 

He  had  tins  enough  to  supply  them. 

He  would  like  to  make  them  comfortable  —  but  they 
would  misunderstand  his  motive. 

If  they  kept  away  from  him  all  night,  he  would  not 
approach  them. 

If  daylight  were  allowed  to  come  before  they  took  ac 
tion  against  him,  he  had  a  fighting  chance,  but  in  the 
dark  he  was  wholly  at  their  mercy. 

A  quick  thrust  from  behind  and  all  would  be  over! 

Despite  his  determination  to  remain  awake,  weariness 
and  exhaustion  overpowered  him. 

He  lost  consciousness,  to  be  startled  into  wakefulness 
by  pandemonium  all  about  him ! 

The  whole  swamp  was  ablaze! 

Earth  seemed  to  have  opened  and  all  hell  and  dancing 
demons  were  abroad! 


312  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

The  very  feelers  of  the  ghostly  mangroves  writhed  in 
torturesome  curves  and  advanced  and  retreated !  They 
jeered,  they  pantomimed,  they  menaced! 

Black  things  were  jumping  up  and  down  and  making 
hideous  sounds ! 

'Twas  some  moments  before  Huntingdon  could  gather 
his  wits. 

Then  the  truth  flashed  over  him. 

His  time  had  come !  The  savages  were  keyed  up  for 
his  sacrifice ! 

What  else  could  their  dancing,  their  clamor,  their 
menacing  gestures  mean? 

Lord,  what  a  racket,  what  a  din ! 

Where  did  the  savages  get  the  implements  with  which 
to  make  such  clatter,  such  ear-splitting  sounds? 

Huntingdon's  eyes  focused  on  a  big  Ouroungo.  He 
was  pounding  vigorously  upon  a  tin  trunk  with  a  frying 
pan! 

Huntingdon  stopped  his  fingers  into  his  ears.  The 
din  was  driving  him  crazy. 

Every  nerve  in  his  brain  throbbed  like  pistons  driven 
by  dynamic  force. 

His  hands  encircled  his  head  to  keep  it  from  flying  to 
pieces. 

"  Stop  it,  you  fiends  from  hell,  stop  it !  "  he  yelled. 

But  no  one  heard  him. 

He  leaned  against  the  mangrove,  exhausted. 

He  was  so  cold,  so  wet,  so  tired,  oh,  so  very  tired ! 

Death  would  mean  sleep  —  rest,  at  least. 

But  the  infernal  savages  tortured  him  by  putting  off 
his  death  from  hour  to  hour.  And  what  manner  of  death 
would  they  employ  ? 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  313 

He  idly  wondered  where  the  savages  got  the  dried 
wood  to  keep  up  the  blazing  fires. 

He  wondered,  too,  how  the  wounded  Nagesa  could 
stand  the  hellish  rumpus. 

Then  out  of  the  general  uproar  a  weird  chant  beat 
upon  his  strained  nerves.  Louder  and  louder  it  rose ; 
faster  and  faster  danced  the  savages. 

One  by  one  they  fell,  only  to  rise  again  and  continue 
to  jump  up  and  down  with  renewed  abandon! 

They  were  devils,  nothing  but  devils ! 

The  white  man  was  a  fool  to  try  to  civilize  them  or 
to  attempt  to  wrestle  wealth  from  their  country ! 

In  suspense  Huntingdon  died  a  thousand  deaths.  He 
would  have  done  violence  to  himself,  but  he  had  not  the 
power  to  move  arm  or  leg! 

He  could  only  look  on  and  suffer. 

Slowly  night  lifted,  and,  like  a  reluctant  thing,  sad- 
eyed  Dawn  stole  out. 

Huntingdon  never  welcomed  anything  so  much  in  all 
his  life ! 

Haggard,  worn,  and  thoroughly  spent,  Huntingdon 
looked  towards  Nagesa. 

He  was  DEAD ! 

Huntingdon  understood  the  dance!  'Twas  to  keep 
off  evil  spirits  —  devils  who  came  to  steal  the  souls  of 
living  men ! 

Huntingdon  thought  it  a  chimera  of  his  weary  brain 
when  Ngumbe  came  to  him. 

There  was  a  hole  in  his  head,  blood  had  dried  on  his 
face  and  his  eyes  were  sunken  and  unusually  large. 

"  Master,"  he  said  humbly,  "  Ouroungo  want  for  go 
for  him  town  with  Nagesa.  You  fit  let  him  go?  " 


314  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Huntingdon  started,  incredulous. 

So  this  was  the  end  of  it  all. 

He  laughed  like  a  wild  man ! 

Ngumbe  turned  away,  explaining  something  in  Our- 
oungo. 

Then  Makaya  spoke,  Makaya,  the  coward. 

"  Master,  it  be  wise  palaver  to  let  Nagesa  people  tek 
him  for  him  town,"  he  said  in  French. 

Of  course  they  could  take  him  to  his  town.  'Twas 
the  very  thing  Huntingdon  wanted. 

It  was  his  salvation ! 

Sullen  were  the  faces  turned  toward  the  white  man 
as  Ngumbe  delivered  his  master's  implied  refusal  for 
the  removal  of  the  dead  Nagesa. 

Though  Huntingdon  knew  it  not,  it  was  the  moment 
of  his  greatest  danger. 

The  superstitious  fears  of  the  savages  regarding  the 
dead  were  coming  into  play. 

Unless  they  got  Nagesa  to  his  town  where  they  could 
hold  the  customary  feast  over  his  death,  evil  spirits 
would  descend  upon  the  men  who  had  failed  Nagesa  in 
his  extremity. 

Nagesa  himself  would  haunt  them  unto  death  —  every 
one  of  them  was  a  marked  man. 

While  they  shook  now  with  nervous,  superstitious 
dread,  yet  that  very  dread  would  arm  them  to  do  violence 
to  Huntingdon,  to  make  way  with  him  that  Nagesa 
might  have  the  proper  death  feast  in  his  own  town  sur 
rounded  by  his  wives  and  his  peoples ! 

Towards  the  canoe  in  his  stocking  feet  Huntingdon 
walked  as  bravely  as  possible,  but  it  was  all  he  could 
do  to  keep  his  balance.  He  was  dizzy  and  the  ground 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  315 

was  swampy  and  slippery,  and  the  rain  continued  to 
fall. 

"  Ngumbe,"  he  cried,  "  tell  them  Ouroungoes  we  fit 
for  take  walk  one  time  for  Nagesa's  town." 

The  command  was  received  with  satisfaction,  and 
Huntingdon  never  made  such  a  quick  canoe  journey  in 
all  his  life. 

When  the  town  of  Chief  Ogandaga  at  Sangatanga 
was  reached  Huntingdon  was  delirious  with  fever. 

When  his  senses  returned,  he  was  in  his  own  bed,  and 
a  black  woman  was  attending  him ! 

She  gave  him  some  sort  of  hot  broth. 

He  turned  over  and  went  to  sleep  —  normal  sleep ; 
the  first  he  had  had  in  months ! 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  woman  was  Ndio,  the  Gabonaise! 

She  had  bided  her  time.  She  was  of  Africa  and  she 
knew  her  country's  ways ! 

It  was  when  the  crisis  of  blackwater  fever  was  ap 
proaching.  Huntingdon's  skin  took  on  the  different 
shades  of  yellow,  while  his  face  was  blood  red ;  his  eyes 
protruded  alarmingly  and  the  secretions  of  his  kidneys 
were  the  very  fluids  of  life. 

Moore  and  LeBlanc  had  done  what  they  could  for 
him.  But  it  was  little.  They  had  grown  indifferent  to 
suffering.  Huntingdon  was  left  to  his  fate.  He  grew 
violent.  Makaya,  Ngumbe,  Mbega,  Ogula  and  Nkombi 
Kakhi  fled  from  him  in  terror.  Their  master  was  be 
witched  !  He  was  left  alone  to  die ! 

In  delirium  he  jumped  from  his  bed  and  was  about 
to  leap  into  the  bay,  when  Ndio,  the  Gabonaise  came ; 
Ndio,  the  imperious ;  Ndio,  the  much  desired,  the  cov 
eted  of  all  white  men,  save  him  into  whose  life  Fate  thrust 
her! 

She  forced  Ngumbe,  Ogula,  Nkombi  Kakhi  and  Mbega 
to  take  Huntingdon  to  his  bed  and  hold  him  until  the 
delirium  had  passed.  And  this  forcing  of  the  savages 
was  no  easy  task.  They  are  so  superstitious  that  they 
would  as  soon  take  hold  of  the  devil  himself  as  a  white 
man  raving  and  violent.  But  the  imperious  Gabonaise 
exacted  obedience  from  her  inferiors.  They  feared  her 

316 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  317 

fury  and  the  vengeance  of  her  powerful  tribe  even  more 
than  they  feared  the  devil  in  the  white  man. 

The  Gabonaise  disdained  the  modern  drugs  of  civi 
lization  and  resorted  to  the  simples  of  her  people. 

She  nursed  Huntingdon  tenderly  and  constantly,  not 
out  of  any  duty  to  save  the  life  of  a  human  being, 
but  because  she  wanted  Huntingdon's  body,  she  wanted 
the  man.  In  his  right  senses  she  had  failed  to  draw 
even  his  notice.  She  could  not  dominate  him  by  her 
animalism  and  beauty  as  she  had  conquered  other  white 
men.  She  must  try  some  other  way. 

Unknown  to  the  white  man,  for  hours  and  hours  she 
gazed  upon  his  smooth,  white  flesh,  his  well-shaped  body. 
The  savage  in  her  was  wild  to  possess  him,  yet  she  had 
the  cunning  not  to  precipitate  matters. 

Other  white  men  discarded  and  changed  their  mis 
tresses  at  will.  But  such  commonplace  treatment  was 
not  for  the  imperious  Gabonaise.  'Twas  she  who  did 
the  choosing.  'Twas  she  who  discarded. 

She  left  the  Commandant  without  so  much  as  an  Au 
revoir,  Monsieur.  And  do  what  he  might,  the  Com 
mandant  could  not  coax  her  back.  She  disdained  his 
gifts.  She  denied  herself  to  everybody.  She  stored 
up  her  passion  day  by  day.  It  should  break  forth  only 
for  the  Englishman.  He  would  be  hers.  He  could  not 
escape ! 

Huntingdon  was  too  weak,  too  indifferent  for  any 
thing  to  make  an  impression  upon  him. 

His    convalescence    was    slow,    tedious.      He    existed 
—  that  was  all.     Oh,  if  little  Sadler  were  only  there  — 
but  he  was  still  in  Europe  and  would  not  come  again 
for  months ! 


318  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Gradually,  there  came  to  Huntingdon  a  sense  of  com 
fort.  His  bungalow  was  more  homelike ;  his  meals  bet 
ter  served;  his  linen  cleaner. 

Huge  points  of  ivory  and  small  balls  of  rubber  were 
piled  wherever  his  eyes  lighted.  The  beach  was  again 
lined  with  red  and  black  wood  —  as  mahogany  and  ebony 
are  called.  For  a  time  he  thought  it  was  a  chimera 
of  his  delirium.  Gradually,  he  learned  it  was  all  true 
and  that  it  was  the  Gabonaise  who  worked  these  won 
ders. 

He  heard  her  trading  with  the  natives.  In  addition 
to  native  dialects,  she  spoke  English  and  French. 

The  Gabonaise  was  indeed  a  worthy  descendant  of 
the  Mpangwes,  the  Jews  of  the  west  coast.  Hunting 
don  thought  he  had  made  some  pretty  keen  trades,  but 
he  saw  where  he  was  cheated  right  and  left. 

Huntingdon  was  grateful  to  the  Gabonaise  and  showed 
his  gratitude  in  every  way  —  except  that  for  which  the 
woman  had  schemed  and  denied  herself.  He  showered 
gifts  and  comforts  upon  her.  He  bought  slaves  to 
attend  her.  She  was  the  best  dressed  and  the  most 
envied  native  woman  from  Dakar,  in  the  Senegal,  to 
Saint  Paul  de  Loando,  in  Portuguese  West  Africa,  a 
coast  line  of  over  4,000  miles. 

The  other  white  men  took  it  as  a  matter  of  course  that 
the  Gabonaise  was  Huntingdon's  mistress.  They  merely 
shrugged  their  shoulders.  Such  a  thing  was  bound  to 
come.  Nothing  else  was  possible.  They  ridiculed  him 
for  having  so  long  lived  to  himself. 

Huntingdon  tolerated  their  hints  and  their  gossip. 
Other  things  engrossed  his  thoughts. 

For  two  boats  he  had  not  written  home  because  of  his 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  319 

inability  to  do  so.  But  he  had  written  now,  explaining 
in  full.  He  spoke  warmly  of  the  Gabonaise  both  to  his 
mother  and  Marjorie.  He  owed  his  life  to  her  and  he 
begged  them  to  send  her  some  gift  attesting  their  ap 
preciation  of  her  services. 

He  spoke  of  the  changes  in  his  living  quarters ;  of 
their  being  more  cheerful,  more  comfortable,  and  above 
all  cleaner.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  hinted  of  dis 
comforts.  He  told  of  his  desertion  by  the  natives 
out  of  fear  of  his  delirium ;  of  the  desertion  of  the 
white  men  out  of  indifference,  and  the  fatalistic  belief 
that  death  was  inevitable  for  a  man  sick  as  he  had 
been. 

Huntingdon  wrote  fully  and  unreservedly. 

He  appreciated  the  agony  of  his  loved  ones  because 
of  his  silence.  Particularly  did  he  feel  Marjorie's 
grief.  She  would  mourn  him  as  dead  —  for  death  alone 
would  keep  him  from  writing.  He  could  not  immediately 
relieve  her  agony.  When  needed  most,  the  cable  to 
Europe  was  not  working.  His  loved  ones  would  have 
to  await  the  mails  and  they  were  so  slow,  so  slow ! 

But  his  letters  were  all  ready  awaiting  the  next 
steamer.  On  her  way  down  coast  she  would  bring  him 
letters  from  Marjorie.  Oh,  how  he  longed  for  her  let 
ters  !  To  kiss  the  paper  her  hands  had  pressed,  to  read 
words  of  love,  hope,  encouragement  and  cheer!  He 
needed  them  more  than  ever.  He  was  so  tired,  so  worn, 
so  weary !  He  closed  his  eyes,  he  felt  her  lips  upon  him, 
he  heard  her  whisper : 

Forget  you,  my  Love  of  Loves.  I  should  forget  to 
breathe  first! 

He  cried  the  words  aloud  when  he  suffered  most.     He 


320  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

called  on  them  to  help  him  bear  up,  to  give  him  the 
strength  necessary  to  carry  out  his  business  project. 

To  return  to  England  in  search  of  health  never  en 
tered  his  head. 

There  were  only  four  months  yet  to  endure  —  only 
four  months  more ! 

He  lived  only  to  mark  off  each  day  of  the  calendar 
and  to  thank  God  that  his  purgatory  was  nearing  an 
end. 

In  his  letter  he  had  asked  Marjorie  to  set  a  date  for 
their  wedding.  He  lived  o'er  their  honeymoon.  How 
he  would  love  her!  His  starved  being  would  feed  on 
her  sweetness ! 

Thoughts  of  his  beloved  was  the  elixir  he  held  to  his 
lips.  He  drank  of  it  continuously.  It  was  the  am 
brosial  food  that  kept  alive  his  unwilling  body. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life  the  Gabonaise,  who  had 
made  the  suffering  of  white  men  her  pastime,  suf 
fered  a  torment  of  hell  impossible  to  a  civilized  nature. 
She  was  as  hungry  as  a  lionness  starved  to  desperation. 
Yet  she  successfully  masked  the  seething  demand  of  her 
nature. 

She  spent  hours  beautifying  herself.  She  polished 
her  skin  until  it  shone  like  rich  red  mahogany.  She 
made  the  most  of  the  silks  Huntingdon  gave  her.  She 
polished  her  nails  as  she  had  seen  Huntingdon  do.  Re 
membered  were  the  arts  the  American  Missionaries  at 
Libreville  had  taught  her.  She  hemstitched  linens ;  she 
made  gay  cushions ;  she  gathered  fresh  flowers  ;  she  con 
cocted  dainty  desserts ;  she  administered  unto  Hunting 
don  in  every  possible  way.  She  was  ever  at  hand  to 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  321 

anticipate  his  wishes.  She  ruled  his  factory  as  though 
she  owned  it.  Where  Huntingdon  had  solicitated  trade, 
she  demanded  it,  and,  partly  through  fear  of  her  ven 
geance,  and  through  their  continued  admiration  for  the 
Great  White  King,  the  savages  poured  their  products 
in  large  quantities  into  Huntingdon's  factories. 

But  the  beauty,  the  arts  and  attentions  of  a  thousand 
Circes  could  not  seduce  Huntingdon.  His  was  one  of 
those  rare,  intense  natures,  that  loves  but  once ;  that 
clings  to  its  vows  as  rigidly  as  does  a  Carmelite  to  his. 
His  was  no  idle  boast  Avhen  he  said  to  Marjorie:  Count 
less  eternities  shall  -find  me  still  remembering!  Her 
image  was  always  before  him  —  it  beckoned  him  on  and 
ever  on,  it  was  the  lodestar  that  drew  him  from  out  the 
very  shadow  of  the  valley  of  death  and  gave  him  the 
courage  to  fight  on ! 

At  last  the  imperious  Gabonaise  had  to  admit  that  she 
could  not  win  the  white  man  by  any  arts  of  her  own. 

She  sought  the  magic  of  the  witch  doctor  of  the  Our- 
oungoes. 

She  paid  the  Nganga  enormous  sums  for  his  charms. 
She  placed  the  charms  in  the  band  of  Huntingdon's  hel 
met  ;  under  his  mattress ;  in  the  cushions  on  which  he 
rested ;  they  hung  over  his  head,  they  were  under  his 
feet. 

But  to  no  avail. 

Huntingdon  constantly  dreamed  of  home. 

Three  months  and  two  weeks  now  —  three  months 
and  two  weeks ! 

How  slowlv  time  went!  It  seemed  to  sleep  on  the 
way.  To  forget  to  register  passing  seconds. 

Patience,  PATIENCE,  PATIENCE  ! !     Exquisite  hell  to 


a  heart  burning  with  longing,  with  a  body   raked  by 
fever  and  exhausted  from  endurance. 
But  time  must  pass.     IT  MUST! 

'Twas  the  night  before  the  mail  was  due. 

Huntingdon  was  too  nervous,  too  anticipative  for 
sleep. 

He  must  write  again  to  her  —  to  the  woman  who  filled 
his  thoughts. 

When  I  shall  again  be  with  you,  Light  of  my  Soul, 
I  shall  have  entered  the  Holy  of  Holies,  leaving  all  long 
ing  and  pain  outside.  We  shall  live  in  the  very  Garden 
of  Love. 

I've  been  dreaming  what  it  would  be,  Light  of  my  Be 
ing.  If  this  inanimate  sheet  should  become  for  the 
nonce  a  sensatory  thing  —  a  conductor  of  emotion  —  not 
emotion  exactly  — 

7  cannot  write  —  I  can  only  think.  Is  it  possible  that 
my  thought  waves  reach  you,  my  Beloved?  If  they 
only  could,  if  they  only  could!  Into  thought  waves  I 
project  my  very  soul;  that  subtle  something  too  evan 
escent  to  flow  from  a  pen's  rusty  point;  too  beautiful  to 
be  tangibly  expressed,  too  sacred  to  be  scribbled!  If 
thou  thinleest  of  me  for  one  short  second  freely,  fully  as 
I  think  of  thee  eternally,  then  indeed  am  I  compensated 
for  being  so  very  distant  from  you. 

Good  night,  Light  of  my  Heart,  Eyes  of  my  Eyes, 
Desire  of  my  Desire,  Breath  of  my  Breath,  my  Other 
Half,  My  Completion,  my  Necessity.  Good  night! 

His  pen  rolled  unheeded  upon  the  floor.  His  eyes 
became  large,  luminous.  They  annihilated  space,  they 
pierced  leagues  of  water  and  land.  He  was  by  Mar- 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  323 

jorie's  side,  he  heard  her  soft,  sweet  murmur:  Forget 
you,  my  Love  of  Loves,  I  should  forget  to  breathe  first. 
He  pressed  his  lips  to  hers,  he  stopped  her  words,  he 
felt  her  nearness. 

His  eyes  closed.  His  head  sank  slowly  to  the  table. 
His  breathing  was  scarcely  audible.  Physical  discom 
forts,  bodily  pain  had  flown.  Complete  exhaustion  en 
veloped  him.  Thought  was  stilled,  feeling  was  banished. 

The  Gabonaise  stole  in. 

She  bent  over  the  white  man. 

She  could  not  hear  him  breathe.      She  was  alarmed. 

She  raised  his  head.  His  eyes  looked  for  a  second 
into  hers,  then  closed  again. 

Satisfied  that  exhaustion  alone  possessed  him,  she 
lightly  rubbed  a  charm  over  his  head  and  eyes.  It  was 
to  make  him  to  dream  of  her  —  to  see  only  her  when 
he  should  awake ! 

The  break  of  day  found  Huntingdon  on  the  veranda. 
He  was  pale  as  a  ghost  and  thin  unto  emaciation.  Long 
ingly  he  scanned  the  bay  for  a  glimpse  of  the  European 
steamer. 

Other  days  had  seemed  unendurable,  but  this  day 
seemed  to  stand  still. 

Perhaps  the  steamer  was  lost  —  wrecked  on  that  ter 
rible  coast !  The  thought  brought  him  renewed  torture. 

He  sent  Ngumbe  to  the  post  office  for  news  of  the 
steamer. 

She  was  all  right ;  she  had  left  Libreville,  she  would 
arrive  at  Cape  Lopez  about  5  p.  M. 

Closely  the  Gabonaise  guarded  the  white  man  and 
watched  for  a  sign  of  the  working  of  the  magic  of  the 
witch  doctor. 


324  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

She  coaxed  Huntingdon  to  take  food.  In  it  was 
blended  the  yellow  of  a  crocodile's  egg  to  make  his  love 
blaze  forth  for  her  and  her  alone. 

But  Huntingdon  would  not  eat. 

"  You  will  be  sick  again  for  skin,  Monsieur  Hunting 
don.  And  you  never  live  for  tek  walk  for  civilization, 
to  look  your  peoples  unless  you  take  chop,"  she  coaxed. 

He  would  eat,  but  he  wanted  only  fruit.  He  would 
take  champagne  too  —  a  whole  litre.  He  needed  his 
strength  —  to  read  her  letters,  her  letters  ! 

At  last  the  steamer  came. 

Huntingdon  saw  but  one  letter  that  interested  him. 

It  was  Marjorie's.  He  kissed  the  envelope  and 
blessed  the  little  hand  that  had  addressed  it.  How 
happy  its  contents  would  make  him !  In  it  was  the 
date  of  their  wedding.  Their  wedding!  Sympathy, 
companionship,  love  would  soon  be  his ;  they  were  a 
trinity  necessary  to  his  very  being !  Already  his  exile 
and  its  tortures  were  falling  from  him,  they  were  of 
the  past ;  the  future  and  Mar j  orie  had  come  into  being ! 
How  strong  he  was ;  physical  weakness  had  vanished  be 
fore  the  reality  of  the  letter  he  held  in  his  hand:  the 
letter  naming  their  wedding  day ;  the  reward  for  his  suf 
ferings,  his  tortures,  the  reward  for  his  incessant  labors 
and  fidelity !  Oh,  how  thankful  he  was  that  he  had  had 
the  strength  to  remain  true  unto  her!  He  would  tell 
her  all  about  his  temptations  some  day  —  some  day  when 
they  were  settled  in  their  own  home,  and  a  child,  a  part 
of  Marjorie's  being  and  his,  had  come  to  bless  them. 
How  could  he  ever  have  the  courage  to  leave  home  again 
and  come  out  to  the  coast  even  at  remote  intervals  to 
look  after  his  interests?  But  sufficient  unto  the  day  is 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  325 

the  evil  thereof.  Mar j one  was  with  him,  there  in  her 
letter  —  Marjorie  — 

Why  how  thin  was  her  letter ;  only  one  sheet !  She 
was  ill,  of  course  she  was  ill.  Perhaps  she  had  died 
while  the  letter  was  en  route  to  him !  Died  and  left 
him  !  Perish  the  thought ! 

Nervously  he  tore  open  the  letter  —  no  date,  no  en 
dearing  salute  —  what  words  were  those  —  ah,  he  was 
crazy  —  Hell's  Playground  sported  with  his  brain  —  the 
joy  at  the  receipt  of  her  letter  was  too  much  for  his 
weakened  state ;  his  overwrought  senses  made  hideous 
distortions  of  the  words  penned  by  the  hand  of  his  be 
loved  ! 

I  have  been  informed  why  you  have  not  written.  You 
have  a  native  wife  and  child.  Of  course  you  recognize 
that  a  marriage  between  you  and  me  is  impossible.  I 
have  sent  your  ring  and  your  gifts  to  your  mother. 

Truly  he  must  be  mad.  That  was  no  letter  from 
Marjorie.  Delusion  was  the  worst  trick  Hell's  Play 
ground  had  yet  played  him.  Marjorie  repudiate  him, 
doubt  him,  cast  him  off!  Ah,  his  brain  was  weak 
and  totally  incapable  of  translating  written  words ;  he 
would  lay  the  letter  aside ;  he  would  force  himself  to  take 
nourishing  food  and  plenty  of  champagne.  Clearness  of 
brain  would  come  to  him,  then  he  would  read  what  she 
had  written :  the  date  of  their  wedding,  her  appeal  to 
come  to  him,  as  quickly  as  he  could.  And  oh,  wouldn't 
he  go?  He  would  take  the  French  steamer  ten  days 
hence  on  her  way  up  coast.  Why  had  he  not  thought 
of  that  sooner?  Mbega  and  the  Gabonaise  could  look 
after  the  Cape  Lopez  factory  and  at  his  other  factories 
in  the  bush  there  were  efficient,  honest  men.  Yes, 


326  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

he  would  go  home.  He  would  not  delay  another  mo 
ment. 

He  shouted  for  Ngumbe  and  ordered  him  to  pack  up. 
He  summoned  Mbega  and  the  Gabonaise;  he  raised 
Mbega's  wages ;  the  Gabonaise  would  receive  whatever 
sum  she  might  name  for  her  services ;  Huntingdon  would 
never  again  live  in  his  bungalow,  the  Gabonaise  could 
have  it.  He  would  go  to  Marjorie  at  once;  the  voyage 
would  bring  back  his  health  and  strength. 

In  his  excitement  he  ate  a  hearty  evening  meal  and 
drank  much.  Over  and  over  again  he  planned  his  im 
mediate  return  to  civilization.  He  pictured  Marjorie's 
joy  and  delight  at  his  early  coming  to  her  —  but  what 
words  were  those  stealing  through  his  brain  —  advanc 
ing  and  retreating  like  a  thing  of  evil :  —  native  wife 
and  child  —  marriage  between  you  and  me  impossible  — 

Pshaw,  would  Hell's  Playground  besiege  him  forever! 
Make  of  his  brain  an  implement  of  torture,  of  his 
thoughts  a  constant  inquisition ! 

He  had  other  letters  from  civilization.  He  would 
open  them,  he  would  prove  conclusively  that  his  brain 
was  incapable  of  lucid  thought. 

Prove?  Why  necessary  to  prove  anything  in  regard 
to  Marjorie;  he  took  her  on  faith  alone,  as  she  took 
him.  As  she  took  him!  Why  should  such  a  thought 
come  into  being?  Faith  was  part  of  his  very  soul,  the 
escutcheon  of  the  noble  houses  of  the  Bedfords  and 
Granvilles ;  faith,  the  lever  which  controlled  their  acts 
and  thoughts ;  faith,  without  which  life  would  be  in 
tolerable.  Such  faith  was  Marjorie's  too;  she  had 
sworn  it! 

There  was  a  letter  from  his  father;  he  would  read 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  327 

that.  Strange  that  its  meaning  was  perfectly  clear ; 
strange  that  it  should  be  all  about  business  ;  and  that 
there  was  no  mention  of  Marj  orie  or  his  mother  — 

Quickly  he  tore  open  another  letter,  from  his  brother 
Guy.  It  was  also  perfectly  clear.  Guy  congratulated 
him  on  his  shipments  and  the  big  prices  prevailing  in 
the  European  markets  for  African  products ;  yet  there 
was  something  strange  in  that  letter  too :  there  was  no 
mention  of  Marj  orie  —  nor  of  his  mother! 

Marj  orie  —  Good  God,  was  he  sane  after  all  and  did 
his  brain  correctly  interpret  her  words  — 

Over  and  over  again  he  read  her  brief  letter  until  it 
was  indelibly  engraved  on  his  brain  and  its  meaning  was 
perfectly  clear! 

So  unexpected,  so  heavy  was  the  blow  that  he  was 
completely  stunned. 

Another  day  came  before  he  was  able  to  think  calmly. 

Marj  orie  had  cast  him  off,  why?  Because  he  had 
not  written  for  several  boats?  Surety  she  would  take 
into  consideration  the  uncertainty  of  letters  sent  from 
far-away  Africa,  the  probability  of  his  illness  and  in 
ability  to  write  — 

Suddenly  he  jumped  up  with  a  mighty  oath  as  the 
thought  struck  home :  somebody  had  written  slanderously 
and  maliciously  and  willfully  about  him  to  Marj  orie! 
That  was  not  surprising,  familiar  as  he  was  with  the 
malicious,  slanderous  gossip  of  the  white  aliens.  No 
crime  was  too  dastardly  for  them  to  concoct!  In  the 
heat  of  her  indignation,  Marj  orie  had  cast  him  off.  But 
all  would  be  well  again.  Marj  orie  would  be  tearfully  re 
pentant  ;  he  would  kiss  away  her  tears ;  her  trust  in  him 
would  be  deeper,  her  love  for  him  greater,  as  is  always 


328  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

the  case  when  a  woman  has  unjustly  accused  and 
doubted  the  man  she  loves  best. 

But  who  could  have  been  guilty  of  slandering  him? 
It  lay  only  between  two  men:  Moore  and  LeBlanc. 
No,  Moore  would  not  do  such  a  thing;  it  must  have 
been  LeBlanc.  The  Frenchman  imagined  that  the 
Gabonaise  was  Huntingdon's  mistress  and  jealousy  and 
envy  prompted  the  letter.  Poor  LeBlanc,  to  resort  to 
such  ignoble  means  to  harm  a  fellow  man  who  had  never 
done  aught  to  deserve  such  treachery !  But  Hunting 
don  held  no  animosity  against  the  Frenchman ;  he  took 
into  consideration  the  smallness  of  his  character ;  his 
perverted  morals ;  the  pitiful  condition  to  which  Hell's 
Playground  had  reduced  him.  But  above  all,  everything 
would  be  all  right  when  he  held  Marjorie  close  in  his  arms 
and  explained  everything  to  her.  LeBlanc  instead  of 
harming  him  would  have  brought  him  the  additional 
blessing  of  Marjorie's  repentance  and  her  subsequent 
perpetual  desire  to  make  amends  with  unlimited  love  and 
trust  and  confidence.  No,  he  held  no  grudge  against 
LeBlanc. 

Huntingdon  imagined  letters  already  en  route  from 
Marjorie,  begging  his  pardon  for  her  momentary  doubt 
of  him.  Of  course,  he  would  forgive.  It  was  but 
natural  that  she  should  doubt,  then  repent  bitterly  for 
having  so  hastily  condemned  him.  She  was  a  woman, 
entitled  to  the  luxury  of  doubt,  then  to  the  subsequent 
abject  misery  that  would  come  to  her  because  of  that 
doubt.  After  all,  LeBlanc  had  done  him  a  favor.  Poor 
LeBlanc!  Never  to  know  such  perfect  love  as  was 
Marjorie's  and  Huntingdon's ! 

Buoyed  up  with  hope  and  sure  of  Marjorie's  repent- 


329 

ance,  Huntingdon  walked  back  and  forth  along  the 
beach  unmindful  of  the  grilling  heat  and  indifferent  to 
fatigue.  But  sundown  brought  exhaustion  and  deep 
sleep.  Suddenly,  he  found  himself  wide  awake.  In  the 
tense  stillness  of  the  tropical  night  Huntingdon's 
thoughts  seemed  to  take  voice  and  loud  and  bitterly  they 
attacked  Marjorie. 

Where  was  the  faith  she  had  sworn  so  repeatedly? 
How  dare  she  doubt  his  word  and  accept  that  of  an 
anonymous  slanderer?  How  dare  she  put  him  down, 
unheard,  as  a  poltroon,  a  liar,  all  that  was  detestable? 
Why  did  she  not  ignore  the  anonymous  letter,  as  he 
would  have  done.  Why  did  she  not  keep  her  faith  in  him 
as  he  had  kept  his  faith  in  her? 

Ah,  there  was  the  great  injustice!  He  had  built 
upon  perfect  faith  and  in  his  extremity  he  was  treated 
thus !  He  had  given  his  word  to  be  true,  he  had  been 
true,  and  God  alone  knew  what  torture  he  had  endured, 
how  sick  at  heart,  how  lonely  he  had  been,  how  his 
senses  had  tortured  him,  how  thoroughly  spent  he  was 
now! 

And  the  woman  for  whom  he  had  suffered  a  thousand 
crucifixions  had  lightly  cast  him  off  with  the  dash  of 
a  pen  !  Ah,  that  was  the  hurt ! 

Injustice  swelled  deeply  within  Huntingdon  and  be 
came  an  obsession.  Over  and  over  again  he  fanned  its 
flame  and  fed  it  fuel.  That  Marjorie  should  even  as 
sociate  doubt  in  connection  with  him,  that  she  would 
permit  an  anonymous  slanderer  to  cause  her  to  cast  him 
forth  as  though  he  were  the  vilest  of  wretches,  were 
the  tongues  of  fire  that  seared  his  very  soul  and  grilled 
it  excruciatingly!  Marjorie  well  knew  how  her  words 


330  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

would  crush  him,  how  deeply  she  would  cause  him  to 
suffer,  how  cruelly  she  had  outraged  what  he  held  most 
sacred :  his  honor  and  his  faith  !  She  insulted  his  honor 
willfully  and  deliberately  on  the  word  of  passing  slander ! 
Would  he  stoop  to  explanation,  defense?  Would  he 
recognize  the  hag,  Slander,  who  ought  to  be  instantly 
throttled  by  all  honorable  people?  He  would  not  so 
demean  himself.  He  had  pledged  his  word,  that  in  itself 
was  enough  to  bid  Slander  begone;  but  Marjorie  had 
entertained  Slander,  had  listened  to  her,  had  cast  him 
off  at  her  bidding.  If  she  placed  Slander,  and  her  first 
cousin,  Suspicion,  above  his  plighted  word,  above  his 
honor,  he  would  do  naught  to  kill  Slander  or  dispel 
Suspicion.  Marjorie  had  judged  him  unheard;  she  had 
sentenced  him  to  what  she  knew  would  be  the  keenest 
suffering  possible  to  a  refined,  human  being.  He  dis 
dained  defense;  he  would  submit  silently  and  never  by 
word  or  action  of  his  should  she  know  the  suffering  she 
caused  him.  Defense  was  for  the  guilty ;  he  was  inno 
cent.  He  would  live  his  life  alone ;  she  had  deliberately 
and  unjustly  cast  him  off,  she  could  go  her  wa}%  he 
would  go  his. 

He  tore  up  the  letters  he  wrote  her;  with  a  curse  he 
cast  them  forth  on  the  winds. 

No  tears  did  he  shed;  his  suffering  was  silent  and 
within. 

His  thoughts  were  his  executioners.  He  could  not  ban 
ish  them  either  with  drugs  or  absinthe.  The  only  thing 
that  could  crush  him  completely  had  descended  upon 
him,  speeded  by  the  hand  of  the  woman  he  had  so  madly 
and  persistently  worshiped.  He  was  cast  off,  ignomin- 
iously,  he  was  doubted  —  oh,  how  he  hated  civilization 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  331 

and  its  refined  cruelties !  He  never  again  cared  to  see 
anybody  belonging  to  it.  The  white  race  had  dealt 
him  his  death  blow,  he  was  done  with  it  forever! 

Day  after  day  he  sat  upon  the  veranda  and  gazed  into 
space  —  over  the  same  Atlantic  that  washes  England's 
shore  —  daily  he  grew  more  bitter  against  Marjorie; 
where  he  loved  he  now  hated  intensely.  Such  injustice 
as  she  had  done  him  —  she  for  whom  he  had  suffered  so 
long  and  painfully  —  could  never  be  forgotten  nor  for 
given  ! 

The  revelries  of  the  white  men  of  Cape  Lopez  and 
the  natives  came  to  him  on  the  night's  breezes.  The 
shouting,  singing  and  tom-tom,  beating  no  longer  pained 
him.  Nor  did  he  blame  the  white  men  for  seeking  diver 
sion  from  self  and  soul-torturing  introspection.  Per 
haps  they  had  come  just  such  a  cropper  as  he  had  in 
the  game  of  love.  Man  should  never  judge  another 
unless  he  can  put  himself  in  that  other's  placet 

If  Huntingdon  were  lonely,  miserable,  before,  what 
was  he  now  that  his  beacon  of  love  and  hope  was  ex 
tinguished?  A  ship  without  a  rudder,  an  alien  in  a 
hostile  land,  a  shuttlecock  to  be  battledored  as  Africa 
willed ! 

Huntingdon  brooded,  he  fed  daily  on  life's  very 
forces.  He  sought  no  diversion  —  each  day  brought 
him  more  acute  misery. 

Life  ceased  to  be  endurance  —  it  was  one  long-drawn- 
out  agony. 

He  saw  Cape  Lopez  in  its  true  light.  It  seemed  the 
end  of  the  world,  the  epitome  of  all  that  is  depressing 
and  annihilating. 

And  he  had  once  thought  it  beautiful ! 


332  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

'Twas  raining.  The  whole  earth  exuded  moisture  and 
sobbed  from  the  sheer  misery  of  it  all;  the  sun,  the 
ravager,  reigned  supreme.  He  murdered  and  tortured. 
Even  torrential  rains  were  impotent  to  quench  Nature's 
parched  throat.  Africa  sizzled !  The  sands  of  the 
beach  were  as  waves  of  heat ;  the  very  breeze  seemed  on 
fire. 

Huntingdon  knew  what  would  follow  the  rains.  All 
vegetation  would  become  parched,  scorched,  lifeless. 
Woods  and  plains  would  burst  forth  in  flame,  the  air 
would  fill  with  choking,  offensive  smoke  !  And  he  had 
once  thought  forest  fires  magnificent,  the  odor  of  burn 
ing  brush  delightful  incense! 

Many  a  white  man  went  down  in  the  fight.  At  Cape 
Lopez  another  Douane  and  the  Chef  de  Poste  went 
under.  From  the  bush  and  throughout  all  Africa  came 
news  of  the  death  of  white  aliens. 

A  letter  from  old  Wallace  reported  Longworthy 
seriously  ill  with  smallpox;  Cartright  dead  from  sun 
stroke;  little  Hertford  a  victim  of  a  cobra's  bite,  and 
Wallace  himself  just  over  an  unusually  severe  dose  of 
fever.  He  advised  Huntingdon  to  let  Africa  and  her 
wealth  go  to  hell  and  to  return  at  once  to  civilization  — 
before  it  was  too  late. 

The  West  African  Mail  announced  the  death  of  Cap 
tain  Haywood.  Cause  unknown. 

The  White  Man's  Grave  yawned  wide ! 

Huntingdon  peered  into  the  cavern. 

But  Hell's  Playground  sported  with  him.  She  would 
not  give  him  his  cachet. 

He  lived  on  and  on,  his  suffering,  his  sensibilities 
growing  greater! 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  333 

The  Gabonaise  again  sought  the  witch  doctor  in  his 
town. 

"  I  have  paid  you  black  wood  and  ivory  and  gold  to 
buy  the  Great  White  King's  love  and  you  have  failed," 
she  complained  ominously. 

"  I  have  not  failed,"  confidently  answered  the  Nganga. 
"  The  magic  I  gave  you  is  all  powerful  —  not  even  a 
white  king  can  prevail  against  it.  But  it  will  not  work 
until  —  until  — " 

"  Until  what,"  imperiously  interrupted  the  Gabonaise. 
"  Take  care,  don't  fool  with  me,"  and  her  eyes  blazed 
disclosing  such  hideous  possibilities  that  even  the  sorcerer 
trembled.  But  he  too  was  working  for  a  great  prize. 
The  animalism  of  the  Gabonaise  had  called  forth  his 
in  all  its  savage  intensity.  The  Gabonaise  must  be  his. 

"  Until  —  you  —  pay  —  more  —  '  said  the  Nganga, 
slowly. 

"  Palm-kernels,    palm-wine,    skins,    ivories,    wood  — 
began  the  Gabonaise,  but  the  witch  doctor  interrupted: 

"  I  want  none  of  these  things.  I  have  more  wealth 
now  than  the  white  man  will  ever  possess  were  he  to  live 
to  be  as  old  as  the  nchinas,1  in  the  jungles,  or  Mboomba,2 
the  great,  fiery  snake  that  lives  for  the  sky,  after  the 
rain  falls." 

"  What  then  can  Ndio,  the  Gabonaise,  give  to  the 
Nganga  of  the  Ouroungoes  in  exchange  for  the  Great 
White  King's  love?" 

"  Ndio  is  a  Gabonaise,  of  the  powerful  and  mighty 
Mpangwes,  to  whom  the  Ouroungoes  are  but  slaves.  The 
Ouroungoes  can  buy  other  woman,  but  a  Gabonaise  has 
never  mated  with  an  inferior.  Now,  Ndio,  the  Gabo- 

i  Monkeys.  2  Rainbow. 


334  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 


naise 


shall  live  in  the  forest  for  one  week  as  the  wife  of 
the  Nganga  of  the  Ouroungoes  and  the  love  magic  will 
work  at  once.  The  Great  White  King  will  no  longer 
resist  Ndio,  the  Gabonaise.  She  will  possess  him  through 
Dry  Seasons  and  Wet  Seasons  so  many  in  number  that 
the  Nganga  of  the  Ouroungoes,  with  all  his  magic,  canr- 
not  count  them." 

Ndio's  eyes  blazed!  Her  fingers  twitched  ominously 
at  the  demand  of  the  Nganga!  But  his  last  words  won 
her  completely. 

She  did  not  hesitate. 

"  Ndio,  the  Gabonaise,  will  come  here  to-night  and 
for  one  week  she  shall  be  the  wife  of  the  Nganga  of  the 
Ouroungoes.  But  if  in  that  time  the  Great  White  King 
is  not  hers,  the  Nganga  of  the  Ouroungoes  shall  have  no 
charm  to  withstand  the  wrath  of  the  Gabonaise!  You 
know  my  people,  the  Mpangwcs!  We  brook  no  decep 
tion  —  our  cunning  will  snare  you  e'en  though  Mboomba 
herself  wrapped  you  in  her  protecting  coils  !  " 

The  sorcerer  watched  her  go,  his  sensual  lips  pressed 
closely  together. 

He  was  sure  of  success.  Unless  the  white  man  should 
bring  death  upon  himself,  Africa  would  claim  him  for 
ever  ;  Africa  never  capitulated,  never  compromised.  She 
ruled ! 

In  the  week  that  followed,  Huntingdon's  life  forces 
were  at  their  lowest  ebb. 

There  was  not  a  breath  of  air,  and,  save  when  lashed 
by  torrential  rain,  the  sea  lay  smooth  as  polished  jet, 
blinding,  and  heat  reflecting. 

Huntingdon  was  unclean,  disheveled,  unrecognizable. 

Great  spiders,  clammy  lizards,  fat,  disgusting  roaches, 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  335 

wasps,  flies,  mosquitoes,  and  scorpions  besieged  him,  yet 
he  felt  them  not.  His  astral  body  alone  was  there  —  it 
possessed  no  sense,  no  feeling.  Dull  incessant  pain  had 
strangled  thought  and  silenced  memory  ! 

Ah,  if  such  inanition  would  only  lash,  but  the  winds 
of  reality  again  blew  on  Huntingdon  and  lashed  him 
into  life,  into  feeling. 

Stifling  though  the  heat  and  humidity  were,  he 
shivered  with  cold.  Rivers  of  ice  rushed  madly  through 
his  arteries,  restoring  his  sensibility  to  pain. 

Forget  you,  my  Love  of  Loves,  I  should  forget  to 
breathe  first,  the  litany  that  had  so  long  sustained  him 
and  gave  him  the  courage  to  fight  on,  began  to  throb 
continuously  through  his  brain,  mockingly  and  de 
risively.  It  brought  a  new  agony  all  its  own.  O'er  him 
again  swept  infinite  misery ;  the  misery  that  had  en 
gulfed  Smithson  the  night  he  left  for  the  Ogowe  and 
his  death. 

Death!  Did  it  silence  all  memory,  all  thought,  or 
would  he  continue  to  hear :  Forget  you,  my  Love  of 
Loves  — ?  He  could  endure  no  longer.  He  called  loud 
for  absinthe. 

The  liquor  brought  short-lived  exhilaration ;  then 
languor ;  gradually,  acute  consciousness  again  returned ; 
memory  awoke ;  the  hateful  litany  again  obsessed  and 
tortured,  accompanied  by  the  mournful  sob  of  the  sea 
and  the  eternal  sighing  of  the  giant  cocoanut-palms. 
Dead  men's  bones,  Smithson  had  called  the  latter.  They 
were  indeed  fitting  sentinels  for  that  tiny  spot  up  there 
on  the  beach  which  covered  up  all  that  was  mortal  of 
white  aliens  who  had  thought  to  successfully  combat. 
Hell's  Playground! 


336 

The  little  burial  ground  beckoned ;  it  was  ready  for 
another  white  man ;  the  sand  was  flat  on  the  last  grave 
and  scrub  grass  fought  for  life  in  the  arid  surroundings 
beneath  the  pitiless  sun.  Moore  would  bury  him  - 

Slowly  Huntingdon  went  within  his  bungalow. 

"  Repose?  "  he  questioned  of  a  Derringer.  "  Shall 
I  find  the  Nirvana  of  the  Hindus  —  the  only  oblivion  I 
care  for:  no  thoughts,  no  memories,  a  cessation  of  all 
sensations  — ?  " 

Deliberately  he  placed  the  pistol  under  his  ear.  But 
mental  anguish  had  made  him  hypersensitive  to  touch. 
The  heat  of  the  metal  burned  his  tender  flesh.  He 
shrank  from  it. 

He  pulled  his  heavy  hair  over  his  temple,  laid  the 
pistol  thereon  and  pulled  the  trigger  ! 

No  explosion  followed! 

The  pistol  was  jammed  from  excessive  humidity  and 
do  what  he  would  he  could  not  raise  the  hammer ! 

He  laughed  aloud  —  like  a  crazy  man  —  and  hurled 
the  weapon  from  him. 

Even  death  refused  to  come  at  his  bidding ! 

Again  he  dragged  himself  to  the  veranda. 

He  was  exhausted  from  his  attempt  at  suicide. 

For  a  long  time,  he  lay  with  his  eyes  closed.  He 
slept,  to  be  awakened  by  the  call  of  the  inrushing  sea. 
Ah,  there  was  rest ;  he  would  seek  it.  Why  had  he  not 
thought  of  it  sooner?  He  essayed  to  rise,  determined 
to  plunge  into  the  water's  depths,  but,  alas,  power  of 
locomotion  had  left  him ;  his  brain  alone  was  active  and 
the  sea  took  up  the  litany  he  so  thoroughly  detested. 
Rage  then  possessed  him  and  over  and  over  again  he 
shrieked  defiantly  towards  the  offending  waters:  For- 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  337 

get  you,  my  Love  of  Loves,  I  would  forget  to  breathe 
first!  " 

The  vocal  expression  brought  him  a  sort  of  relief  and 
again  languor  and  inertia  gripped  him. 

Gradually,  another,  a  soothing  sound,  penetrated  his 
senses.  After  a  time  he  knew  them  to  be  the  mellifluous 
tones  of  a  woman's  voice ;  they  came  to  him  like  celestial 
music  vibrating  through  perfumed  space.  Was  the  end 
near,  release  at  hand?  So  fervently  did  he  wish  for 
death,  that  he  sat  up,  opened  his  eyes  and  calmly 
awaited  his  dissolution. 

Great  was  his  disappointment  when  he  discovered  the 
source  of  the  sounds  he  thought  were  celestial. 

It  was  the  voice  of  the  Gabonaise  who  was  trading 
with  some  Nkomi  women  from  the  Rembo.  Never  be 
fore  had  Huntingdon  recognized  the  soft  music  in  the 
voice  of  the  Gabonaise;  it  soothed  and  attracted  him. 
He  gave  himself  up  to  its  enjoyment.  With  interest  he 
studied  the  woman,  and  for  the  first  time  her  unusual 
personality  impressed  itself  upon  him. 

No  more  effective  contrast  could  have  been  chosen  to 
set  off  her  superiority,  elegance  and  beauty.  She  was 
as  a  queen  among  the  low-statured,  ugly,  flat-breasted, 
prematurely  old  bushwomen.  She  radiated  magnetism ; 
they  repelled. 

The  Gabonaise  wore  only  a  pagne,  the  native  dress 
composed  of  a  simple  strip  of  cloth.  But  it  was  not 
soiled,  crumpled,  and  wound  indifferently  about  the 
waist,  as  is  usual  with  the  savages.  It  was  of  soft,  pale, 
yellow  silk  and  was  brought  tightly  across  the  bust  and 
ended  at  the  ankles.  A  curiously  twisted  knot  over  the 
left  breast  held  it  in  place.  It  suggested  a  form  perfect 


338  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

in  sensuous  symmetry,  while  its  color  heightened  the 
beauty  of  the  smooth  skin  that  glistened  in  the  sunlight 
like  polished  mahogany.  Suddenly  she  gazed  at  Hunt 
ingdon,  then  advanced  toward  him  with  the  slow,  lang 
uorous  abandon  which  is  the  heritage  of  the  savage 
woman  of  the  torrid  zone. 

She  handed  him  a  voucher  to  sign. 

He  noticed  her  slim,  elegant  hands ;  the  tapering, 
supple  fingers ;  the  filbert-shaped,  highly  polished  nails ; 
the  exquisite,  slender  throat,  and  rounded  arms. 

He  glanced  at  her  feet.  Their  nails,  instead  of  being 
broken  and  unsightly  like  those  of  the  savage,  were  per 
fect  and  well  cared  for.  Nor  was  she  barefooted  like 
the  savage.  She  wore  Morocco  sandals  of  richly  deco 
rated  leather,  in  which  the  red  and  yellow  predominated. 

Her  hair,  instead  of  being  woolly  and  unkempt,  was 
becomingly  arranged  in  a  soft  roll  on  either  side  of  a 
small,  exquisitely  poised  head,  and  ornamented  with  pins 
of  carved  ivory  inlaid  with  ebony. 

Huntingdon  could  not  see  her  eyes.  They  were 
masked  by  the  lowered  lids.  But  he  noticed  the  long, 
silken,  curling  lashes ;  the  petulant  curve  to  the  short 
upper  lip,  so  foreign  to  the  negro  mouth ;  the  gleam  of 
small,  white,  perfect  teeth,  and  the  deep  cleft  in  a 
rounded  chin. 

"  LeBlanc  is  right,"  mused  Huntingdon  idly,  "  the 
Gabonmse  is  all  he  painted  her  and  more." 

Listlessness  again  overpowered  him. 

The  voucher,  unsigned,  fluttered  to  the  floor. 

The  Gabonaise  bent  gracefully  and  easily,  picked  up 
the  voucher,  signed  it  herself,  and  moved  away. 

"  One  moment,  please !  " 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  339 

Huntingdon  did  not  call  her  by  name.  He  had  never 
addressed  her  in  a  personal  manner. 

The  Gabonaise  turned,  came  towards  him,  her  chin 
tilted,  her  eyes  a  mere  glint  through  the  almost  com 
pletely  lowered  lids. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  signing  my  vouchers?  " 

"  For  many  moons,  Monsieur  Huntingdon,"  was  the 
answer  in  those  well  modulated,  beautiful  tones  that  had 
charmed  him  a  few  moments  before.  But  what  struck 
him  most  was  the  Monsieur  Huntingdon.  It  was  un 
usual  on  the  lips  of  a  native.  Even  the  chiefs  and  kings 
addressed  the  white  man  as  master,  or  If  ing! 

"  Signing  vouchers  is  no  business  of  yours !  "  said 
Huntingdon  rather  severch\  "  I  would  rather  you  took 
no  part  in  my  affairs.  I  have  already  shown  my  ap 
preciation  for  your  services  during  my  illness  and  your 
supervision  of  my  household.  You  will  please  concern 
yourself  no  more  about  my  business." 

The  Gabonaise  made  no  reply,  but  her  eyes  flashed 
wide  open,  as  she  turned  and  slowly,  majestically,  passed 
out  of  sight. 

Such  eyes  —  Huntingdon  had  never  before  seen  an}^- 
thing  like  them.  The}r  Avere  large,  dark,  lustrous,  in 
tense,  mysterious.  With  what  scorn  they  had  looked 
at  him !  Yet  how  the}'  beckoned,  promised,  denied ! 
They  confessed  much ;  they  hid  more.  In  them  lay  a 
woman's  soul,  fathomless,  inscrutable,  fascinating,  com 
pelling  ! 

Weak,  miserable  and  almost  dead  though  he  was,  those 
eyes  pierced  his  innermost  being.  His  pulse  beat  a 
trifle  faster,  his  blood  flowed  slightly  stronger,  yet  no 
desire  smote  his  senses. 


340  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Fate,  however,  was  steadily  weaving  her  web.  She 
pulled  on  the  strings  of  perception,  she  commenced  a 
newer,  a  brighter  design ;  completed  and  left  behind  was 
dull  introspection.  The  Siren  of  Interest  threaded  the 
bobbin. 

Two  days  later  as  Huntingdon  went  in  to  luncheon, 
the  Gabonaise  disappeared,  after  having  seen  that  every 
thing  was  in  order. 

For  the  first  time  Huntingdon  noticed  the  monogram 
embroidered  in  his  table  linen,  the  excellence  of  his  table 
and  its  appointments.  The  china  and  silver  and  glass 
ware  shone.  The  napery  was  perfectly  laundered. 
There  was  a  center  piece  of  rich  purple  irises,  glistening 
with  the  dew  of  the  forest. 

The  books  on  the  shelves  were  evenly  arranged. 
There  was  a  new  shade  for  the  lamp.  The  floor  was 
clean.  New  mats  were  thrown  on  it  and  there  were 
dainty,  white  Swiss  curtains  at  the  windows. 

Everywhere  were  traces  of  a  woman's  care  and  at 
tention. 

Ngumbe  was  again  clothed  in  decent  white  ducks. 
He  stood  behind  his  master's  chair.  He  served  him 
intelligently  and  well. 

For  the  first  time  in  months,  Huntingdon  relished  his 
food. 

"  Makaya  is  improving  in  cooking,"  he  remarked  as 
Ngumbe  gave  him  a  second  portion  of  mullet.  "  This 
fish  is  deliciously  cooked." 

"  Makaya  never  done  him,  Master.  It  be  them  Gabo- 
naise.  She  savvy  cook  palaver,  plenty,  plenty.  She 
be  proper  woman  far  past  them  Ouroungoes.  She  learn 
from  them  'Merican  mission  at  Libreville." 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  341 

Huntingdon  ate  the  rest  of  his  luncheon  in  silence. 

The  coffee  served,  Ngumbe  disappeared,  as  was  his 
wont,  to  eat  his  chop. 

All  was  still  —  the  heavy,  oppressive  stillness  of  mid 
day  tropical  Africa.  There  wasn't  a  breath  of  air  nor 
sound  of  life.  Huntingdon  seemed  to  be  the  only  one 
alive  on  the  entire  planet. 

Suddenly,  an  overwhelming  desire  for  companionship 
swept  over  and  convulsed  him. 

He  groaned  aloud  in  his  misery.  The  cry  was  wrung 
from  him,  nor  was  he  conscious  of  its  utterance  until 
the  Gabonaise  bent  over  him. 

"  Huntingdon,  you  are  ill  t  "  she  cried  impulsively. 

In  the  voice  of  the  Gabon-aise  was  an  ocean  of  sym 
pathy,  in  her  wondrous  eyes  was  tenderness,  in  her 
presence  was  companionship! 

Yet  she  touched  him  not;  she  dared  not;  she  knew 
that  all  advances  must  come  from  him. 

Huntingdon  turned  towards  her  as  naturally  as  does 
the  sunflower  to  the  sun  god. 

"  Were  you  ever  ill?  '*  he  demanded. 

"  Ndio,  the  Gabonaise,  is  never  ill." 

She  pronounced  it  An-dee-o,  and  she  spoke  softly, 
slowly,  languorously,  musically. 

"  Sick  never  ketch  her  skin.     Look." 

She  took  his  hand  and  rubbed  it  over  her  polished 
flesh.  It  was  smooth  and  firm,  and,  wonderful  to  relate, 
cool. 

"  The  Ouroungo  woman  never  beautiful  like  Ndio. 
Monsieur  Huntingdon,  the  Gabonaise  has  sent  the  fever 
from  your  skin,  now  you  fit  to  let  Ndio  mek  your  skin 


342  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

all  same  like  hers  ?  "  she  coaxed  as  though  he  were  a 
child. 

Huntingdon  could  not  help  but  smile. 

"  Sit  down,  if  you  please,  and  tell  me  about  it," 

He  brought  forth  a  chair  for  her.  But  she  preferred 
a  cushion  at  his  feet. 

Her  beautiful  arms  rested  on  his  knees  and  she  looked 
up  into  his  face. 

Suddenly,  he  drew  away. 

The  eyes  of  the  Gabonaise  dropped  and  she  said, 
sadly : 

"  White  man  never  love  black  woman."  Then  she 
reared  her  head,  proudly :  "  Me,  I  be  Gabonaise. 
Princess  for  my  country.  The  French  Governor  for 
Gaboon  has  sent  for  me.  I  never  go,  I  stay  here  for 
Monsieur  Huntingdon.  The  Commandant  of  Cape 
Lopez,  he  send  me  plenty  cadeaux  all  time,  every  day. 
I  say  no  —  I  stay  for  Monsieur  Huntingdon.  And 
Monsieur  Huntingdon,  he  never  love  the  Gabonaise. 
La  paurre  An-dee-o!  " 

She  was  like  a  spoiled  child. 

Huntingdon  laid  his  hand  on  her  head  and  said 
kindly : 

'  The  white  man  does  love  the  Gabonaise  but  he  does 
not  love  the  trade  perfume  she  wears.  It  makes  white 
man  sick." 

"  I  never  hear  1  him,  Monsieur  Huntingdon.  He  no 
be  good?  " 

'  Not  for  Ndio,  the  Gabonaise  Princess." 

She  drew  away  from  him,  and  he  imagined  tears  in 
her  eyes. 

i  Smell. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  343 

"  Wait,"  he  said. 

He  went  into  his  bedroom  and  returned  with  French 
violet  water. 

He  poured  some  of  it  on  her  hand  and  bade  her  smell 
of  it. 

"  Is  it  not  sweet,  sweet  past  trade  scent?  "  he  asked. 

She  sniffed  vigorously.  He  noticed  that  her  nose  was 
flat,  ugly,  decidedly  negroid.  Yet  her  other  features 
more  than  compensated  therefor. 

"  I  never  hear  him,  Monsieur  Huntingdon,  I  never 
hear  him." 

"  Let  the  Gabonmse  take  it  and  when  she  comes  to 
Monsieur  Huntingdon  again,  let  him  never  hear  them 
trade  scent.  It  no  be  proper  fine  for  Ndio,  the  Gabo- 
naise  Princess." 

He  turned  from  her,  but  she  placed  her  hand  on  his 
arm,  looked  into  his  face,  and  said  plaintively  in  a  voice 
that  thrilled  his  senses : 

"  You  savvy  what  Ndio,  the  Gabonaise,  go  mek  for 
you?" 

He  shook  his  head.  He  watched  the  shadows  come 
and  go  in  her  mysterious  eyes.  He  noticed  that  they 
were  flecked  with  brown  —  after  the  manner  of  her  race. 

Again  she  took  his  hand  and  rubbed  it  slowly  over 
her  arm : 

"  I  mek  medceen.  I  put  him  for  skin  —  so  " —  and 
she  vigorously  rubbed  the  back  of  Huntingdon's  hand. 
"  Monsieur  Huntingdon  get  all  same  like  Ndio,  the 
Gabonaise." 

The  friction  sent  a  thrill  of  pleasure  through  Hunt 
ingdon. 

He  bade  her  go  get  the  medicine  and  bring  it  to  him. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

All  afternoon  he  waited  for  her.     She  did  not  come. 

There  was  no  sign  of  her  at  dinner  time,  nor  at  ten 
o'clock,  when  Ngumbe  left  him  for  the  night. 

Again  Huntingdon  was  thoroughly  depressed.  The 
night  was  suffocatingly  hot  and  it  was  raining. 

His  thoughts  were  on  the  Gabonaise.  He  remembered 
the  touch  of  her  hand,  the  thrill  of  new  life  she  sent 
through  him.  He  wished  she  were  there  now.  He  would 
talk  to  her.  Her  voice  was  so  soothing.  She  was 
naive,  refreshing,  decidedly  picturesque  and  above  all 
companionable !  He  was  tired  of  being  alone.  Tired 
of  his  own  society. 

He  was  delighted  when  she  appeared. 

She  walked  straight  to  him,  put  her  head  under  his 
nose  and  said: 

"  You  hear  them  scent?     He  live." 

She  must  have  employed  the  whole  bottle  of  French 
violet  water.  It  was  strong  but  vastly  better  than  the 
rank  trade  stuff. 

Huntingdon  was  in  his  resting  room  on  the  veranda. 
The  bamboo  shades  were  closely  drawn  and  locked.  A 
lamp,  with  a  rose-colored  shade,  sent  forth  a  soft  glow. 

The  Gabonaise  wore  a  pale  blue  pagne  of  soft  silk, 
and  yellow  sandals.  They  were  exceedingly  becoming, 
and  Huntingdon's  artistic  sense  was  aroused.  She  was 
decidedly  good  to  look  upon. 

From  the  folds  of  her  pagne,  the  Gabonaise  drew  a 
bottle. 

*  Ndio  herself  go  for  bush  myself  and  mek  medceen 
for  Monsieur  Huntingdon.  Rain  ketch  the  skin  of 
Ndio;  bush  he  mek  Ndio  so." 

She  pulled  up  her  pagne,  disclosing  a  deep  scratch 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  345 

just  below  the  knee.      She  appeared  as  artless  as  a  child. 

She  took  away  the  pillows  from  the  couch. 

"  Monsieur  Huntingdon  must  lie  down  all  same  like 
baby,  and  Ndio,  the  Gabonaise,  be  fit  for  mek  him  strong 
all  same  first  time  Ndio  look  him." 

Huntingdon  was  in  the  shadows  studying  her.  The 
glow  of  the  lamp  fell  upon  her.  It  glinted  along  her 
rich,  smooth  skin.  It  hunted  out  the  perfect  symmetry 
of  her  undraped  neck  and  arms.  She  was  indeed  good 
to  look  upon! 

She  was  trying  to  pull  the  cork  from  the  bottle  with 
her  teeth. 

"  Allow  me,"  he  said. 

He  took  the  bottle  and  removed  the  cork.  He  looked 
into  her  face.  No  emotion  showed  upon  it.  Her  teeth 
gleamed  small,  white,  perfect  through  her  parted  lips 
and  the  cleft  in  her  chin  —  so  very  unusual  in  a  savage, 
— •  fascinated  him. 

"  The  Gabonaise  must  not  spoil  her  beautiful  teeth  by 
pulling  corks  with  them." 

"  No?  "  she  questioned. 

Suddenly  it  came  to  Huntingdon  that  he  would  like 
to  teach  this  woman  something.  She  was  extremely 
perceptive  —  and  fascinating  and  young  —  yes,  she 
was  very  fascinating  —  and  healthy. 

For  the  first  time  in  months,  weariness  did  not  possess 
Huntingdon.  It  had  fled  from  him.  He  had  some 
thing  to  interest  him.  He  had  found  companionship. 

He  would  not  permit  her  to  massage  him.  He  would 
take  her  ointment  and  use  it  himself.  Perhaps,  just 
perhaps,  he  would  permit  Ngumbe  to  rub  him. 

'Twas  raining  very  hard. 


546  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

How  still  it  was  —  and  sticky  —  and  hot ! 

He  must  have  air,  even  though  the  rain  beat  in. 

He  went  to  open  a  shutter. 

From  a  table  he  knocked  down  something.  He  picked 
it  up.  'Twos  a  brass  paperweight  Marjorie  had  given 
him.  He  thought  he  had  destroyed  everything  that 
would  remind  him  of  her.  The  paperweight  awakened 
memories  —  and  hell ! 

He  threw  the  weight  into  black  night,  deliberately  and 
firmly  he  closed  the  shutters  and  locked  them. 

The  Gabonaise  still  stood  where  the  rays  of  the  lamp 
fell  full  upon  her.  Her  pagne  had  slipped  exposing  a 
small,  perfectly  molded  breast! 

"  You're  ready  now,  Monsieur  Huntingdon,  for  the 
med — "  she  began,  but  Huntingdon's  answer  was  to 
take  her  in  his  arms  and  press  his  lips  to  hers. 

The  Gabonaise  rejoiced,  secure  in  the  belief  that  the 
charms  of  the  sorcerer  had  brought  about  Huntingdon's 
surrender. 

Huntingdon  spent  a  great  deal  of  time  with  the  Gab 
onaise,  but  he  did  not  permit  her  to  reside  in  his  house 
nor  to  dine  with  him. 

She  had  quarters  of  her  own.  Nor  did  he  permit  her 
to  continue  to  engage  in  active  trade. 

He  regained  his  health,  and  again  took  personal  hold 
of  his  business.  He  was  surprised  how  large  it  had 
grown  under  the  management  of  the  Gabonaise,  The 
only  thing  that  was  neglected  was  his  correspondence. 
But  his  father  understood  why  that  was  —  Huntingdon 
had  written  him  of  his  illness. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  347 

His  father  had  answered,  and,  delicately  hinting  that, 
as  there  was  no  need  of  immediate  return  to  civilization, 
if  his  health  permitted,  the  wise  thing  to  do  was  to  try 
to  get  possession  of  other  French  concessions ;  to  branch 
out  in  every  possible  way.  If  he  needed  more  clerks, 
they  would  be  sent  out.  Huntingdon  was  not  again  to 
overtax  his  strength.  In  a  year  he  would  doubtless 
have  so  enlarged  the  business  and  so  strengthened  it, 
that  he  could  then  return  with  safety  to  England. 

Huntingdon  read  between  the  lines. 

His  father  wished  to  save  him  the  pain  of  returning 
to  England  so  soon  after  his  broken  engagement.  He 
also  wished  to  bring  before  him  the  trust  reposed  in  him 
by  the  men  who  had  given  the  capital  for  his  enterprise. 

Huntingdon's  reply  to  his  father  was  honest  and  frank. 

You  know,  dear  Governor,  what  it  means  to  us  to  love 

—  and  then  to  lose  through  no  fault  of  our  own.     I 
was  as  true  to  my  troth  as  you  have  been  to  my  mother 

—  as  we  Huntingdon*  and  Bedfords  and  Granvilles  have 
always  been  to  our  women.     I  could  not  control  slander. 
Had   I   erred,    I    might    have    put    up    a    defense,    but 
to  be  condemned  on  hearsay  —  but,  you  know,  dear  old 
Governor,  YOU  know! 

I  am  enjoying  the  best  of  health  —  thanks  to  a  native 
woman.  The  one  who  nursed  me  before  when  I  was  ill 

—  the  one  who  was  then  nothing  to  me  —  but  who  is 
now  all  that  I  care  to  find  in  a  woman.      You  will  know 
what  to  say  to  the  mater.     My  stay  here  is  indefinite. 
I  am  preparing  a  report  for  our  stockholders.     The  next 
shipment  will  surprise  you.     It  more  than  makes  up  for 
missed  shipments  during  my  illness.     Business  shall  not 


348  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

suffer  —  as  you,  know.  I  have  a  trust  to  perform  —  no 
man  shall  lose  money  through  me.  Do  not  fear  for  me. 
I  am  happier  and  more  healthy  than  I  ever  expected  to 
be  again. 


FOUR  years  passed  away. 

Huntingdon  was  thirty-five  years  of  age,  the  most 
attractive,  healthful,  successful  and  envied  white  man  on 
the  entire  west  coast. 

The  Gabonaise  was  twenty -two,  at  the  zenith  of  her 
beauty  and  power.  She  lived  like  a  queen  attended  by 
her  own  servants  and  slaves. 

Her  English  was  as  pure  as  Huntingdon's. 

She  took  on  his  habits  of  cleanliness  and  order.  She 
reflected  him  with  the  perfect  mimicry  of  the  savage. 
She  was  wonderfully  intuitive.  She  knew  when  to  speak, 
when  to  remain  silent,  when  to  steal  away.  She  satis 
fied  every  portion  of  Huntingdon's  sensitive,  nervous, 
amorous  being.  He  understood  \vhy  Anthony  was  con 
tent  with  Cleopatra  while  Actium  wrote  his  downfall. 

Africa  was  no  longer  the  cruel,  the  relentless.  Her 
long  wets  and  pitiless  sun  held  no  terrors  for  Hunting 
don.  The  Gabonaise  blotted  out  everything  else. 

She  read  to  him.  She  read  slowly  and  spelled  out 
many  of  the  difficult  words.  Her  voice  was  sweet  and 
low,  and  her  pronunciation  of  French  words  piquant 
and  fascinating. 

He  gave  her  everything  she  wished  for  —  and  more. 
She  chose  the  most  brilliant  colors  for  her  personal 
adornment,  but,  like  flowers  in  Nature's  uncultivated 
garden,  the  colors  blended  harmoniously.  They  empha 
sized  the  smooth,  rich  beauty  of  the  woman's  skin,  and 

349 


350  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

enhanced  her  savage  individuality.      She  was  beautiful, 
regal,  irresistible ! 

She  had  many  exquisite  pieces  of  jewelry,  but  the 
one  which  delighted  Huntingdon  most  was  a  broad,  gold 
anklet  set  with  a  large  pigeon  blood  ruby,  clear  and 
alive  as  newly  shed  blood.  He  had  the  anklet  made  in 
Ashanti,  and  welded  it  on  himself  that  it  might  forever 
adorn  the  curve  for  which  it  was  fashioned. 

He  took  delight  in  attending  to  business  during  cer 
tain  hours  of  the  day  —  for  he  never  neglected  it.  Other 
times,  he  found  companionship,  a  wealth  of  sympathy 
and  love  in  the  Gabonaise.  He  had  long  since  lost  sight 
of  her  color.  She  was  his  other  self.  He  could  not 
live  without  her. 

He  had  indeed  cast  his  lot  with  Africa. 

Huntingdon's  bungalow  continued  the  cleanest,  most 
homelike  and  attractive  on  the  whole  west  coast.  Hunt 
ingdon  enjoyed  life  where  the  other  white  men  simply 
existed.  Many  had  come  and  gone  during  the  four 
years:  some  returned  to  Europe,  the  majority  a  victim 
of  Africa's  malice.  But  LeBlanc,  the  French  trader, 
Wildman,  the  Swiss,  little  Sadler,  and  Moore,  were  left. 

While  the  servants  of  the  other  white  men  robbed  their 
masters  and  neglected  their  duties,  Huntingdon's  goods 
were  guarded  by  Mbega  and  his  servants  kept  up  to  the 
mark  by  the  watchful  Gabonaise. 

When  stray  guests  came  from  European  steamers  and 
accepted  Huntingdon's  hospitality,  the  Gabonaise  re 
mained  out  of  sight.  She  never  thrust  herself  forward. 
Not  an  article  belonging  to  a  woman  betrayed  her  pres 
ence. 

Had  Huntingdon  and  the  black  woman  been  united 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  351 

by  the  bonds  of  Holy  Church,  he  could  not  have  been 
more  faithful  to  her,  nor  more  solicitous  of  her  honor  or 
comforts. 

The  Gabonaise  was  hated  by  the  Ouroungoes,  espe 
cially  the  women,  and  coveted  by  all  white  men  who 
saw  her. 

The  latter  quarreled  with  Huntingdon  for  permitting 
the  Gabonaise  to  continue  in  the  dress  of  her  people. 
They  said  it  was  bold  to  see  her  parading  about  with 
undraped  neck,  shoulders  and  arms.  But  Huntingdon 
saw  no  immodesty  in  her  retention  of  the  only  drapery 
she  ever  knew.  In  his  eyes  that  which  is  natural  is 
neither  immoral  nor  immodest. 

The  white  men  could  not  say  wicked  enough  things 
against  the  Gabonaise.  They  prophesied  Huntingdon's 
betrayal  at  her  hands ;  they  repeated  to  him  all  sorts 
of  gossip. 

But  jeers,  jibes  and  gossip  hadn't  any  effect  upon 
Huntingdon.  He  believed  in  the  Gabonaise,  he  trusted 
her,  he  was  faithful  to  her. 

Huntingdon  lived  an  Utopian  existence.  Civilization 
and  the  other  life  seemed  so  far  away  that  it  had  no  ex 
istence.  The  white  woman  who  had  caused  him  suffer 
ing  and  perpetual  exile  was  forgotten. 

Huntingdon  was  transcendentallv  happy.  He  loved, 
he  was  loved ;  he  trusted  and  his  trust  was  reciprocated. 

But  change  is  the  order  of  nature,  and  change  was 
at  hand. 

The  silvery  rays  of  a  full  and  brilliant  moon  enhanced 
the  witchery  of  the  equatorial  African  night. 

The  waters  of  Lopez  Bay  chanted  a  rhythmic  cadence, 
which,  borne  on  Night's  gentle  wings,  pulsated  o'er  the 


352  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

earth,  while  Venus,  seductively  tender  in  all  the  glory 
of  her  majestic  ascendency,  stole  the  vigor  from  the 
arteries  of  men  and  left  therein  the  languorous  sweet 
ness  of  desire. 

The  narcotic  of  love  was  everywhere.  It  hid  in  the 
graceful,  drooping  fronds  of  the  giant  cocoanut-palms, 
whose  very  life  depends  upon  the  sandy  soil  that  marks 
the  ocean's  path  and  the  salty  mist  of  its  waters.  It 
lurked  in  the  short,  stubble,  sun-burned  grass,  which 
against  the  sand's  opposition  fought  a  daily  battle  for 
existence.  It  slumbered  in  the  broad,  dull-green  foliage 
of  the  motherly  mango  tree,  whose  fruit  needs  the 
passionate  embraces  of  Africa's  sun  to  charm  it  into 
maturity.  It  permeated  all  things  animate  and  inan 
imate.  It  created  a  veritable  Lotus-land  wherein  man 
and  beast,  bird  and  insect  succumbed  to  its  irresistible 
enchantment. 

On  the  roomy,  comfortable  veranda  overlooking  the 
bay,  Huntingdon  and  LeBlanc,  the  French  trader, 
lounged  in  great,  easy  Madeira  chairs. 

For  an  hour  the  men  exchanged  no  words.  They 
were  enthralled  by  and  enchanted  with  the  witchery  of 
it  all. 

Finally  Huntingdon  sighed: 

"  A  divine  night,  LeBlanc,  a  night  for  love.  What 
can  be  more  delicious  than  Africa  at  this  moment?  No 
other  land  in  the  world  is  like  it  —  nowhere  else  are 
the  heavens  such  a  blue-black  hue,  the  planets  so  bril 
liant  and  so  near,  the  stars  so  like  the  eyes  of  the 
woman  we  love :  living,  palpitating,  intense !  " 

Huntingdon  stretched  himself,  lazily. 

There  was  another  silence. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  353 

Overhead  the  giant  cocoanut-palms  swayed  to  and  fro, 
gently  brushing  the  roof  of  the  bungalow. 

"  The  music  of  a  woman's  skirts,"  sighed  LeBlanc, 
glancing  upward.  "  Shall  I  ever  hear  it  again,  in 
civilization  ?  " 

"  Regrets  on  a  night  like  this !  Ah,  LeBlanc.  Open 
wide  your  senses.  Breathe  in  the  delights  of  this  Lotus- 
land.  Hold  the  caressing  hours  while  you  may.  They 
will  not  always  last.  Isn't  your  mistress  adorable,  all 
you  desire  in  women  ?  " 

LeBlanc  did  not  answer. 

"  Look  at  Venus,  old  man.  Is  she  not  transcendent- 
ally  beautiful?  In  such  contrast  to  cold,  proud  Diane. 
Stateliness  is  all  right  —  at  a  distance  —  but  give  me 
Venus.  She  radiates  life,  desire.  Diane  is  so  cold,  un 
responsive.  Zeus !  what  must  life  be  tied  to  an  unre 
sponsive  woman,  eh,  LeBlanc?  A  creature  sans  soul,  sans 
emotion,  sans  everything  ardent  man  desires.  Give  me 
intensity,  LeBlanc,  throbbing,  passionate  expression,  all 
enthralling!  Ah,  they  are  mine,  LeBlanc,  they  are 
mine !  " 

LeBlanc  lighted  a  cigarette  and  quoted  indolently : 

"  Those  whom  the  gods  would  destroy,  they  first 
blind." 

"Croak,  you  old  frog— -'tis  but  a  confession  that 
something's  wanting  in  your  love-palaver.  Satisfied 
love  never  croaks.  It  exults,  it  glories.  For  satisfac 
tion  means  love  requited,  and  where  ardent  natures  meet 
in  full  flood  time,  there  alone  is  paradise." 

LeBlanc  leaned  far  back  in  his  chaise  longue  and  gazed 
at  the  stars. 

"  My  dear  Huntingdon,  some  women,  like  some  stars, 


554  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

are  so  brilliant  they  blind.  Think  you  that  man  can 
look  unceasingly  upon  love's  burning  flame  without  los 
ing  the  keenest  edge  from  his  perceptions?  " 

"  He  might  have  to  close  his  eyes,  friend  LeBlanc,  the 
flame  might  be  so  intense.  But  love  would  have  so  finely 
attuned  his  other  senses,  that  sight  would  not  be  missed. 
But,  please,  don't  croak  on  a  night  like  this,  you  old 
frog.  Again  let  me  counsel  you  to  throw  wide  open 
the  valves  of  your  senses.  Breathe  in  the  soft,  languor 
ous  seduction  of  the  moment.  Oh,  African  nights,  so 
infinitely  tranquil,  yet  so  palpitatingly  intense !  " 

"  Bah,"  and  LeBlanc  let  fall  the  cigarette  from  his 
lips. 

"  Confess,  old  man,  isn't  Africa  just  now  surcharged 
with  love,  with  desire,  with  seductive  witchery  ?  " 

"  The  appreciation  of  nature's  beauties  depends  upon 
whether  or  not  your  senses  are  kept  satisfied." 

"  Ah,  ha,  LeBlanc,  you're  not  such  a  croak,  then, 
as  you  would  have  me  believe.  Seven  years  ago  it  was 
you  who  were  the  voluptuary,  throbbing  with  inten 
sity—" 

"  And  you  drew  away  disgusted.     You  — " 

"  I  know,  LeBlanc.  How  you  old  coasters  must 
have  laughed  at  me !  I  don't  wonder  you  left  me  to  go 
it  alone.  I  was  a  silly  ass.  I  imagined  I  could  dominate 
throbbing,  passionate  Africa  with  cold,  English  will. 
I  was  punished  for  my  folly  —  don't  think  for  a  mo 
ment  I  wasn't.  But  don't  let's  talk  of  unpleasant  things. 
See  how  the  full,  tropical  moon  idealizes  everything! 
The  sand  is  as  a  thread  of  silver,  a  path  in  the  land  of 
heart's  desire  — " 

"It's  filthy,  stinking,  filled  with  jiggers — " 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  355 

"  The  air,  how  soft,  balmy,  it  is  a  breath  of  Ar- 
cady  — " 

"  It's  fever-laden,  dangerous  — " 

"  The  waters,  how  softly  they  murmur,  like  Undines 
longing  to  escape  to  the  arms  of  their  lovers  — " 

"  Crying  to  escape  treacherous  sharks,  you  mean. 
Yes,  I  grant  you,  our  senses  rule  us.  We  can  read 
poetry  in  mud  and  slime  if  our  senses  are  satisfied." 

"  You'll  admit,  too,  won't  you,  LeBlanc,  that  this 
languor  is  sweet,  this  somnambulance  seductive?  That 
Africa  is  the  land  of  heart's  desire,  of  sensual  delights, 
an  Eden  of  intoxicating  splendor !  " 

The  Frenchman  made  no  response. 

Huntingdon  drew  a  long  breath  and  closed  his  eyes. 
Again  languorous  silence  fell,  and  both  men  lay  out 
stretched  upon  their  low,  comfortable  chairs.  Abruptly, 
Huntingdon  jumped  up. 

It  was  a  sign  of  dismissal  to  the  Frenchman. 

"  Sit  down,  Huntingdon,  there's  something  I've  got 
to  say  to  you !  " 

LeBlanc's  command  was  so  peremptory,  so  unexpected, 
so  out  of  keeping  with  the  time,  the  place,  that  Hunting 
don  was  startled  into  obedience. 

Yet  he  could  not  come  out  of  his  Lotus-land  without 
some  protest. 

"  Ah,  LeBlanc,  there  is  never  an  Eden  without  its 
serpent ;  never  a  gladsome  dawn  without  its  night ;  never 
a  tranquil  hour  without  its  tempest ;  never  harmony,  but 
discord  must  creep  in.  But  can't  the  matter  wait  until 
some  other  time?  To-morrow,  for  example,  in  the  full 
glare  of  the  pitiless  sunlight,  when  realities  are  real  and 
dreams  do  not  float  abroad?  " 


356  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

"  No,  it  can't  wait,"  LeBlanc  answered,  harshly. 

"  Out  with  it  then,  old  man.  Let's  have  it  over  and 
done  with."  And  Huntingdon  resigned  himself  to  listen 
to  some  gossiping  tale. 

"  It'll  soon  be  out  —  but,  as  to  its  being  over  and  done 
with  —  that  rests  —  with  —  you." 

LeBlanc  looked  closely  at  Huntingdon. 

A  peculiar  numbness  crept  over  the  Englishman.  The 
revelation  had  to  do  with  Ndio.  Nothing  else  could 
affect  him  so  strangely,  so  vitally.  Heretofore  he  had 
manifested  such  displeasure  at  any  mention  of  the  Gab- 
onaise  that  for  some  time  no  complaints  against  her  had 
reached  him.  Were  those  complaints  to  be  revived? 
Must  he  again  silence  them? 

"  Go  on,  LeBlanc,"  he  said  in  a  low,  tense  tone.  "  But 
take  care.  If  you  attack  anyone  belonging  to  me,  you 
attack  me,  and  when  you  attack  me,  I  defend  myself. 
Africa  has  taught  me  to  strike  swiftly  and  surely. 
You're  warned,  now  go  on." 

The  Frenchman  bent  low  over  the  table  and  looked 
straight  into  the  eyes  of  the  Englishman. 

The  night  was  as  bright  as  day.  Plainly  visible  were 
the  expressions  on  the  faces  of  both  men. 

There  was  a  pause  —  a  slight  pause.  It  emphasized 
the  more  what  the  Frenchman  was  about  to  say. 

"  Huntingdon,  I'm  damned  if  I  stand  by  any  longer 
and  see  the  Gabonaise  make  a  fool  of  you !  " 

He  spoke  confidentially,  as  a  man  sure  of  himself  and 
the  truth  of  his  statement. 

But  Huntingdon  had  heard  LeBlanc  speak  so  before ; 
he  was  known  as  the  most  vituperous  gossip  in  the  entire 
French  Congo.  Huntingdon  also  recalled  his  suspicion 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  357 

that  it  was  LeBlanc  who  had  written  Marjorie  causing 
her  to  cast  him  off,  which  suspicion  Huntingdon  had 
never  hinted  to  LeBlanc ;  he  would  not  give  him  that 
satisfaction.  Nor  did  anyone  in  Cape  Lopez  know 
that  Huntingdon  had  been  jilted.  They  thought  he 
had  succumbed  to  Africa  and  could  not  tear  himself 
away  from  its  freedom  and  license.  But  Huntingdon 
had  suffered  enough  from  LeBlanc.  He  would  silence 
him  once  and  for  all.  He  would  listen  to  no  further 
slander  against  the  Gabonaise.  She  was  his,  his  was 
the  duty  to  protect  her,  to  see  that  she  was  respected. 

"  Look  here,  LeBlanc,"  he  said  grimly,  "  you  are  my 
guest  and  I  owe  you  deference,  but  I  will  not  permit  you 
to  slander  the  Gabonaise.  She  has  proved  herself  worthy 
of  my  trust  in  her.  You  will  offend  me  past  forgive 
ness  if  — 

"  I'll  have  to  offend  you  then,  friend  Huntingdon," 
LeBlanc  interrupted,  "  for  I  don't  intend  to  stand 
silently  by  and  see  you  sold  out  for  a  nigger!  " 

Before  that  unexpected  term  of  opprobrium,  and  all 
that  men,  white  and  black,  consider  vile,  Huntingdon 
sharply  recoiled,  stung  to  the  very  quick,  then  he  arose 
and  leaned  over  the  Frenchman  threateningly. 

"  Take  care,  LeBlanc,  men  have  bitten  the  dust  for  a 
less  insult  than  that ;  take  care !  " 

Huntingdon's  voice  vibrated  with  suppression,  and 
his  eyes  blazed  dangerously,  but  the  Frenchman  arose, 
faced  Huntingdon,  and  said  coolly: 

"Call  the  Loango!" 

Again  Huntingdon  recoiled.  The  Loango,  a  slave, 
a  menial,  his  cook,  and  his  adored  Gabonaise!  Ah,  such 
a  thing  could  not  be  true ! 


358  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

"  You  lie,  LeBlanc,"  he  cried  nervously.  "  You  know 
you  want  me  to  discard  the  woman  that  you  might  gain 
her.  Take  your  tales  elsewhere.  I  never  again  want 
you  to  cross  my  threshold  —  never  again  speak  to  me." 

The  Frenchman  was  never  so  debonnaire  as  he  an 
swered  : 

"  Heroics  are  all  right,  Huntingdon,  in  defense  of  a 
woman  of  the  proper  sort,  but,  man,  you  are  not  dealing 
with  a  civilized  woman,  with  a  woman  of  refined  feelings. 
You've  to  do  with  the  savage.  Some  of  them  may  be 
beautiful  and  all  of  them  are  more  or  less  intense,  yet 
they  are  ignorant  of  sentimental  emotions.  They  are 
all  animal,  carnal.  No  matter  what  brutes  we  white 
men  might  become,  we  are  not  brute  enough  for  black 
women.  This  woman  has  sold  you  out  for  a  nigger. 
It's  up  to  you  whether  you  stand  for  it,  or  not." 

Huntingdon  took  the  wrist  of  the  Frenchman  in  a 
grasp  of  iron. 

"  If  you're  lying,  LeBlanc,  I'll  kill  you." 

The  Frenchman  shook  him  off. 

"  I  don't  care  a  damn  for  your  threats.  I'll  take  all 
that's  due  me  if  I'm  lying.  Call  the  Loango!  " 

Three  sharp,  furious  blasts  rang  out  from  Hunting 
don's  whistle. 

The  Englishman  waited,  grim,  silent. 

The  Frenchman  nonchalantly  lighted  a  fresh  cigarette, 
poured  out  some  absinthe,  and  muttered  lightly: 

"  Toujours  les  femmes;  toujours  le  meme  chose" 

The  Loango  slouched  on  to  the  veranda,  and  the 
Frenchman  commanded  sternly : 

"  Loango,  tell  your  master  about  the  Gabonaise!  " 

Taken  by  surprise  the  Loango  groveled  on  the  floor. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  359 

Never  before  did  he  appear  so  mean,  undersized  and 
repulsive. 

"  Get  up,  slave,"  thundered  the  Frenchman,  kicking 
him  in  the  face. 

The  Loango  slowly  staggered  to  his  feet,  but  fear 
held  him  mute. 

LeBlanc  hit  him  savagely  between  the  eyes  with  his 
closed  fist. 

The  slave  brushed  away  the  spurting  blood  and  opened 
his  mouth  to  speak,  but  he  was  so  slow,  that  LeBlanc 
raged : 

"  Tell  your  master  whose  woman  them  Gabonaise  be  ?  " 

"  Him  be  mine,"  the  wretch  faltered. 

"  How  long  she  be  so?  "  relentlessly  demanded  the 
Frenchman. 

"  Since  last  dry  season  ketch." 

The  Frenchman  spat  disgustedly,  then  demanded  of 
Huntingdon : 

"  What  think  you  now  of  la  belle  Gabonaise,  your  fine 
queen,  your  Circe  noire?  " 

Huntingdon  made  no  answer. 

The  soul  within  him  died.  He  was  as  a  thing  without 
power  —  save  to  feel  the  acutest  agony  that  ever  seared 
a  sensitive  nature.  The  blood  left  his  heart  drop  by 
drop,  each  drop  a  hotter  iron  burning  deeper  into  his 
very  being.  As  a  thing  of  stone  he  stood  in  the  moon 
light  —  an  inanimate  pillar,  its  interior  being  slowly 
done  to  death ! 

The  Frenchman  kicked  the  Loango  and  sent  him  fly 
ing  from  the  veranda  into  the  sand. 

The  slave  hugged  closer  the  earth  —  not  because  of 
any  new  blows  that  might  descend  upon  him  from  the 


360  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

nervous  Frenchman,  but  at  thought  of  the  punishment 
that  would  come  from  his  pale,  silent  master.  He  died 
a  thousand  deaths  awaiting  the  descent  of  his  death 
blow.  He  was  sure  the  Englishman  would  take  his 
life. 

With  an  effort,  Huntingdon  pulled  himself  together. 

"  Thanks,  LeBlanc,"  he  said,  dismissing  the  French 
man. 

"  Don't  mention  it,  Monsieur  Huntingdon.  Had  it 
been  a  white  man  I  never  would  have  told  you.  But  I 
won't  let  you  be  sold  out  to  a  nigger." 

The  Frenchman  went  up  the  beach,  whistling. 

"  Come!  "  and  Huntingdon  motioned  the  Loango  out 
into  the  moonlight. 

The  wretch  slinked  after  him. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

IN  her  bamboo  house,  at  the  forest's  edge,  and  out 
stretched  upon  a  soft  blanket  of  brilliant  silk  and  wool, 
lay  the  Gabonaise,  sensuously  relaxed  and  with  closed 
eyes.  At  her  feet  was  curled  a  young  gazelle;  at  her 
head  on  a  great  crosstree  of  curiously  wrought  teak 
wood  was  perched  a  gorgeous  peacock;  on  the  back  of 
an  ebony  chair  a  gray  parrot  dozed. 

The  Gabonaise  would  have  tempted  the  most  austere 
anchorite  had  he  gazed  upon  her  there  in  all  the  glory 
of  her  compelling,  regal  beauty.  Mahomet's  Paradise 
never  possessed  a  more  ravishing  houri,  nor  was  a  sul 
tan's  seraglio  ever  more  sensuously  lighted,  warmed  and 
perfumed. 

Priceless  silken  Mohammedan  prayer  rugs  were  artis 
tically  draped  with  the  simple  dull-gold  raffia  cloth  of 
the  equatorial  jungles.  A  light,  airy  calabash  stood 
side  by  side  with  a  great  leather  water  bottle  from  the 
Sahara.  On  a  huge  leopard's  skin,  soft  and  beautifully 
spotted,  was  carelessly  thrown  a  rich,  dark  shawl  of 
finest  cashmere.  On  a  native  carved  ebony  tabouret 
were  Turkish  coffee  cups  of  gold  and  a  tiny  silver  Japan 
ese  pipe.  Over  a  large  oval  mirror  of  wrought  brass 
were  hung  the  ugly  charms  of  the  witch-doctors  of  the 
negro  savages.  Woodland  odors  blended  with  musks 
from  Araby.  Bush  lights  in  arabesque  sconces  splut 
tered  gayly,  sending  forth  a  sweet,  pungent  incense, 

361 


362  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

and  in  a  low  brazier  a  charcoal  fire  burned.  Decadent, 
hampered  civilization  was  artistically  blended  with  the 
freedom  and  savagery  of  the  equator. 

One  by  one,  the  bush  lights  spluttered  hysterically, 
then  went  out.  There  was  left  only  the  soft  glow  from 
the  brazier,  tingeing  the  surroundings  a  seductive  red. 

Suddenly,  the  Gabonaise  shivered. 

Slowly  she  opened  her  glorious  eyes. 

Indolently,  she  stretched  her  matchless  limbs  beneath 
their  soft,  clinging  drapery. 

After  a  time,  she  arose. 

Languidly,  she  leaned  over  the  brazier.  From  her 
pagne  she  took  a  small,  jeweled  mirror,  and  examined 
her  face  by  the  fire's  softening  glow. 

No  antimony  shaded  her  eyes ;  no  carmine  reddened 
her  lips ;  no  henna  dyed  her  nails.  She  did  not  need 
borrowed  charms.  Nature  had  molded  her  perfectly  and 
Huntingdon  had  polished  her. 

She  arranged  the  ropes  of  brilliants,  topazes  and  tur 
quoises  about  her  neck. 

She  played  with  her  bracelets,  rings  and  anklets. 

She  studied  the  great  toe  of  her  left  foot,  on  which 
was  a  flat  pigeon-blood  ruby  encircled  with  blazing 
diamonds. 

She  had  not  the  slightest  idea  of  the  value  of  the 
jewels  the  white  man  lavished  upon  her.  She  knew 
only  the  envy  they  excited  in  other  women. 

Tired  with  play,  the  Gabonaise  returned  to  her  couch. 
But  the  spirit  of  unrest  possessed  her. 

Again  she  arose. 

As  she  passed  the  brazier,  a  piece  of  glowing  charcoal 
leaped  forth  and  hissed  like  a  venomous  serpent. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  363 

She  drew  back,  affrighted  at  the  evil  omen,  and, 
groping  about  in  the  shadows,  she  found  a  fetish  —  a 
tiny  gazelle  horn  filled  with  pungent  vegetable  matter. 
Closing  her  eyes,  she  bent  over  the  charm ;  she  implored 
its  protection  from  any  danger  that  threatened,  then, 
about  her  neck  adorned  with  jewels  from  decadent  Asia, 
she  hung  the  ugly  charm  of  the  negro  savage ! 

Despite  the  cold  season,  the  Gabonaise  wore  only  a 
pagne  of  soft,  shimmering  pale  green  satin  embroidered 
with  seed  pearls.  Huntingdon  had  it  made  especially 
for  her  in  Constantinople.  He  had  no  other  use  for 
his  wealth  than  to  spend  it  for  the  adornment  of  the 
woman  he  madly  worshiped  —  the  woman  who  kept  his 
senses  lulled,  who  kept  Africa  masked,  who  made  his 
existence  an  Arcadia. 

The  Gabonaise  went  to  the  door,  but  the  chill  night 
air  caused  her  to  shiver ;  she  sought  a  soft,  silken  scarf 
and  draped  it  about  her  shoulders. 

The  moon  was  so  brilliant  and  so  near  that  night  ap 
peared  as  a  silver  day.  Plainly  visible  were  the  rippling 
waters  of  Lopez  Bay  and  the  thread  of  sand  along  the 
beach.  All  nature  was  subdued,  entrancing,  enticing, 
but  the  woman  neither  saw  nor  felt  it.  Something  else 
occupied  her  thoughts.  She  was  as  still  as  the  very 
doorpost  itself.  Yet  her  blood  was  in  a  tumult.  She 
had  but  one  desire :  to  rush  forth  and  demand  the  reason 
of  Huntingdon's  silence,  his  neglect  of  her.  It  was 
the  first  time  he  had  ignored  her  and  her  savage  blood 
seethed  at  the  thought. 

Her  eyes  were  upon  Huntingdon's  bungalow.  But 
no  sign  of  life  came  from  it. 

From  the  heavens  she  read  the  hour.     Ten  o'clock. 


364-  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Already   an  hour  beyond  the  time  of  her  usual   sum 
mons! 

Extraordinary! 

She  knew  LeBlanc  dined  with  Huntingdon.     LeBlanc. 

Umph! 

No  longer  could  she  remain  inactive. 

Nervously,  she  strode  back  and  forth,  like  a  wild  thing 
caged  and  restless. 

Must  she,  the  imperious  Gabonaise,  be  made  wait  like 
a  common  Ouroungo,  like  the  mistresses  of  other  white 


men: 


Rage,  resentment,  flooded  her  being.  In  her  mad 
pace  she  stumbled  over  something.  She  stooped  to  pick 
it  up;  she  uttered  a  cry  of  abject  fear  and  flung  the 
thing  far  from  her. 

It  was  a  rotted  banana  stalk.     A  most  evil  omen ! 

The  woman  fell  limply  to  the  sand.  Gone  was  her 
imperiousness  —  she  was  an  abj  ect,  cowering,  supersti 
tious  savage. 

She  wildly  implored  her  fetish  to  protect  her.  She 
promised  offerings  of  crocodile  eggs  and  palm  wine  to 
Abambou,  the  devil  who  threatened  her. 

Suddenly  a  sharp  whistle  cut  the  stilly  night. 

The  Gabonaise  eagerly  started  forward,  then  stopped. 

Three  blasts  instead  of  two  rang  out ! 

'Twos  the  summons  for  M  okay  a,  the  Loango  cook  I 

Slowly  the  Gabonaise  retreated  within  her  house.  Me 
chanically  she  groped  in  the  shadows  and  sank  on  an 
ebongo  l  of  carved  ebony. 

What  did  Huntingdon  want  of  the  Loango  at  that 
hour  of  the  night? 

i  Tabouret. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  365 

The  cook's  duties  were  not  only  long  since  over  for 
the  day  but  never  before  had  she  known  Huntingdon 
to  summon  him.  She,  Ndio,  commanded  his  household 
servants. 

Suspicion,  garnished  by  superstitious  fears,  unnerved 
her. 

She  arose  abruptly. 

Again  she  looked  into  the  night,  tightly  clutching  the 
fetish  and  muttering  charms  in  the  Gabonaise  tongue. 

Her  brows  were  drawn  together  in  thought,  and  her 
eyelids  fluttered.  Something  unusual  for  her. 

At  last  she  forced  herself  to  acknowledge  the  truth : 

What  if  her  liaison  with  the  Loango  were  discovered? 

Savage  though  she  was,  she  knew  Huntingdon  would 
never  forgive  infidelity  with  white  men,  what  then  would 
he  do  to  her  for  seeking  a  nigger! 

At  thoughts  of  personal  punishment,  the  imperious 
blood  of  the  unconquered  Mpangwes  regained  its  sway. 
The  eyes  of  the  Gabonaise  glistened  evilly,  her  fingers 
worked  convulsively.  One  evil  emotion  after  another 
chased  across  her  features. 

Let  her  enemies  beware !     She  knew  how  to  punish ! 

Who  were  her  enemies? 

Not  Makaya  nor  any  other  native.  Neither  he  nor 
they  would  dare  betray  her;  they  knew  too  well  the  far- 
reaching  power  of  the  Mpangwes,  their  swift,  sure  ven 
geance.  No,  she  had  nothing  to  fear  from  her  own 
race.  Some  white  man  had  done  this  thing. 

She  heard  LeBlanc's  whistle  as  he  proceeded  up  the 
beach. 

LeBlanc?  She  always  hated  the  puny,  insignificant 
Frenchman,  as  all  well-developed  women  hate  undersized, 


366  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

effeminate  men.  But  now  she  hated  him  with  the  venom 
of  a  treacherous  woman  betrayed.  Woe  be  to  him! 

Already  her  cunning  mind  mapped  out  his  destruction. 
His  doom  was  sealed ! 

After  what  seemed  an  eternity,  two  sharp,  shrill 
whistles  came  vibrating  through  the  night, 

Her  summons,  and  so  peremptory! 

The  cunning  of  her  ancestry  awoke  in  her,  and  to  her 
came  all  the  arts  of  a  seductive  woman. 

She  who  was  all  suspicion,  fire  underneath,  glided 
softly,  gracefully  across  the  moonlit  stretch  of  sand 
leading  to  Huntingdon's  bungalow. 

The  breath  of  night  was  stilled.  All  nature  seemed 
asleep,  drugged  by  the  witchery  of  tropical,  mysterious 
Africa. 

Secure  in  her  beauty  and  its  power,  the  Gabonaise 
was  again  the  imperious  belle  of  the  coast  from  Dakar 
to  Saint  Paul  de  Loando ;  the  coveted  of  all  white  men ; 
the  envied  of  native  women ;  the  acknowledged  wife  of 
Pluntingdon,  the  proud  Englishman! 

Huntingdon  would  not  dare  harm  her.  He  might  cast 
her  forth.  What  of  that?  The  governor  of  the  colony 
had  again  looked  covetously  upon  her  when  he 
passed  down  the  coast.  When  he  came  north  she  would 
go  with  him  to  Libreville,  where  dwelt  the  Gabonaise, 
her  people. 

She  was  tired  of  the  ignorant  Ouroungoes,  of  the 
insipid  white  men.  Yes,  she  was  tired  of  the  Anglais, 
of  his  indulgences,  of  his  kindnesses  and  his  attentions. 
She  had  loved  him  more  had  he  beat  her  and  placed  a 
guard  over  her.  But  he  gave  her  freedom  and  unremit 
ting  love  —  he  was  weak  —  she  hated  weak  men ! 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  367 

She  sought  Huntingdon's  sleeping  apartment. 

It  was  flooded  with  moonlight  which  played  upon  a 
small  dark  object  on  the  floor. 

The  Gdbonaise  stooped  and  picked  up  the  thing! 

'Twas  an  ebony  idol ! 

Would  evil  omens  never  cease? 

She  spat  on  the  head  of  the  idol,  rubbed  her  fetish 
over  it,  muttered  charms,  then  carefully  placed  it  on 
a  shelf. 

She  lighted  a  photophore.1 

Disclosed  was  a  man's  room,  cool,  clean,  severe.  The 
only  thing  therein  speaking  of  other  climes  was  a  hand 
some  brass  traveling  clock  in  a  dull-red  morocco  leather 
case  embellished  with  a  coat  of  arms  in  gold  filigree. 

The  Gdbonaise  threw  the  scarf  from  her,  and  ex 
amined  herself  before  a  mirror.  Fascinated  by  the  re 
flection  of  her  many  jewels,  she  turned  herself  about  to 
get  the  full  effect  of  their  sparkle ;  then  with  a  quick 
movement,  she  undid  the  knot  that-  held  her  pagne  in 
place.  It  fell  to  the  floor,  disclosing  Turkish  trousers 
of  soft,  pink  silk.  These  she  also  unloosed,  and  revealed 
was  a  Venus  in  mahogany  draped  in  jewels  which  glis 
tened  warmly  in  the  candle's  light. 

Suddenly,  she  sniffed  vigorously. 

Perfume !  The  strong  perfume  of  commerce.  Ma- 
kaya  loved  it.  So  did  she.  The  white  man  detested  it. 

She  must  erase  all  trace  of  it. 

She  hastily  removed  her  jewels,  sought  Huntingdon's 
bath  and  bathed.  Vigorously  she  rubbed  her  flesh  with 
a  huge  Turkish  towel,  dusted  her  body  with  poudre  de 
riz  and  deluged  herself  with  violet  water. 

i  A  shaded  candle. 


368  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

She  sniffed  again.      She  was  satisfied. 

But  where  was  Huntingdon? 

Strange  this  silence,  his  absence  — 

And  those  evil  omens  — 

Danger  threatened  —  she  became  thoroughly  terrified 
—  she  sank  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  and  waited  —  waited 
for  she  knew  not  what  save  that  it  meant  harm  to 
her! 

Suddenly  two  sharp,  shrill  whistles  again  tore  through 
the  tense  stillness  of  the  night! 

Her  summons  —  what  was  she  to  do,  where  was  she 
to  go- 

Two  more  blasts  rang  out  —  but  they  electrified  her 
into  action.  Huntingdon  was  in  danger,  out  there  in 
the  night! 

He  was  calling  her,  he  needed  her  —  danger  threat 
ened  him. 

She  grabbed  a  Winchester  from  the  wall. 

Undraped,  she  rushed  into  the  night. 

She  followed  the  direction  of  the  whistle  calls. 

The  fire  of  the  watch  blinded  her  as  she  rushed  past, 
but  on  she  sped. 

She  collided  with  a  man. 

'Twas  Huntingdon. 

She  dropped  the  gun ;  she  held  out  her  arms  to  him, 
but  drew  back  sharply.  It  was  not  the  tender  Hunting 
don,  she  knew :  Huntingdon,  the  lover,  but  Huntingdon, 
the  master:  a  cold,  tall,  pale  man  clad  in  white. 

Huntingdon  spoke  no  word.  He  pointed  to  the 
Loango. 

Makaya,  short  and  ugly  and  thoroughly  frightened, 
trembled  as  with  the  ague.  In  his  hand  was  a  chicotte, 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  369 

the  whip  of  twisted  hippopotamus  hide  so  dreaded  by  the 
natives. 

The  evil  omens  had  all  come  true !  Huntingdon  knew 
of  her  liaison  with  the  Loango  I 

She  made  no  effort  to  deny.  She  would  submit  to 
punishment.  Afterwards,  revenge  was  left  her! 

Huntingdon  indicated  a  coil  of  bush-rope  which  lay 
at  the  base  of  a  great  cottonwood. 

The  Loango,  tremblingly,  stooped  to  pick  it  up,  but, 
e'er  he  could  bind  her,  the  Gabonaise  proudly  walked 
beneath  the  tree  and  leaned  lightly  against  its  silvery 
trunk,  then,  as  though  disdaining  the  tree's  support, 
she  moved  a  pace  from  it,  folded  her  arms  behind  her, 
and  posed  as  a  queen  about  to  receive  a  crown. 

The  flames  from  the  watch's  fire,  not  twenty  feet  away, 
discovered  the  matchless  body  of  the  Gabonaise;  they 
reveled  over  its  surface,  throwing  its  black  sensuous 
curves  into  bold  relief  against  the  silver  trunk  of  the 
tree's  huge  girth. 

Easily  and  gracefully  the  Gabonaise  awaited  her 
punishment.  Her  perfect  teeth  gleamed  beneath  the 
short  upper  lip  that  could  not  hide  them.  Her  eyes 
sought  Huntingdon's  with  an  expression  he  knew  well  — 
an  expression  of  voluptuous  tenderness.  Yet  there  was 
no  entreaty  in  her  gaze.  A  Gabonaise,  an  Mpangwe, 
knows  neither  fear  nor  entreaty ! 

Makaya  never  once  glanced  at  the  woman ;  his  eyes 
were  riveted  upon  his  master,  awaiting  his  commands. 
But  he  seemed  so  slow  in  delivering  them  that  the  Loango 
grew  nervous  and  longed  to  escape. 

At  last,  Huntingdon  made  a  gesture  for  Makaya  to 
throw  away  the  rope. 


370  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Makaya  was  relieved.  A  Loango  and  a  slave,  he 
feared  to  bind  the  imperious  Gabonaise!  He  knew  he 
would  have  penalty  enough  to  pay  for  his  involuntary 
part  in  her  punishment ! 

A  heavy  quiet  reigned.  The  flames  grew  tired  of 
their  sport  and  stole  away.  The  moon  fled  beneath 
the  western  horizon.  Venus,  at  the  first  act  of  the 
tragedy  had  sought  her  couch.  Her  eyes  gaze  only  on 
love  and  its  pleasures ;  the  consequences  thereof,  its 
tragedies,  interest  her  not.  Blackness  covered  the 
earth. 

Suddenly  a  thousand  tongues  seemed  loosed  in  protest 
against  the  punishment  of  the  peerless  beauty. 

From  the  bay  a  fresh  breeze  sprung  up.  Set  in 
motion  were  the  great  branches  of  the  tree  under  which 
the  Gabonaise  stood.  Set  in  motion,  too,  were  the 
leaves  of  the  trees  in  the  forest  just  beyond.  A  sad 
monotone  was  their  remonstrance.  Even  the  birds, 
beasts  and  reptiles  were  startled  into  involuntary  ex 
pression.  A  night  owl  screeched,  a  bush  pig  grunted,  a 
huge  saurian  snorted  at  the  water's  edge.  A  bat  flew 
into  the  watch's  low  fire  and  fell  to  the  earth,  suffocated. 

Suddenly  a  harsh  bell  rang  out ! 

The  watch,  intent  only  on  his  vigil,  sounded  the  hour, 
and  replenished  his  fire  with  dry  bamboo. 

The  tension  was  eased. 

The  flames  with  renewed  life  leaped  forth  greedily, 
and,  again  seeking  out  the  beautiful  undraped  body  of 
the  Gabonaise,  they  sported  over  its  polished  surface. 

Again  Huntingdon  was  forced  to  gaze  upon  the 
woman,  her  beauty,  her  grace,  her  proud  indifference  to 
punishment. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  371 

Suddenly,  he  gave  harsh  command : 

"  Twenty-five." 

Makaya,  the  slave,  hesitated. 

Flog  the  imperious  Gabonaise  \  He  might  as  well 
kill  himself.  Oh,  if  he  could  only  escape  in  some  man 
ner  !  His  eyes  sought  the  bush,  he  commenced  to  mutter. 
He  could  not  lash  this  woman !  She  would  kill  him 
sure! 

"  Obey,  slave !  "  came  the  stern  command  of  the  Gabo- 
naise  in  the  Ouroungo  tongue. 

Makaya  was  startled  into>  obedience.  He  laid  on 
vigorously.  The  flames  followed  each  stroke  of  the 
chicotte  as  it  cut  deep  into  the  body  of  her  who  all  her 
short  life  had  known  naught  but  caresses.  Again  and 
again  was  mutilated  that  sensitive  flesh  cleansed  twice 
a  day  in  the  sea's  soft  water  and  polished  until  it  shone 
like  roseate  mahogany ;  that  flesh  the  delight  of  him 
who  commanded  its  multilation  by  the  wretch  who  had 
dared  desecrate  it ! 

The  tender  flesh  broke.  The  blood,  over  which  the 
woman's  iron  will  had  no  control,  ran  down  her  body 
and  buried  itself  in  the  unresisting  sand. 

Involuntarily  the  Gabonaise  changed  her  position.  A 
stroke  paralyzed  the  sensitive  nerves  in  her  left  elbow. 
The  arm  dropped  to  her  side.  Yet  the  smile  still  ca 
ressed  her  lips;  easy,  upright,  graceful  remained  her 
body. 

Her  matchless  breasts  had  not  yet  felt  the  chicotte' s 
bite.  Thoughts  of  his  own  punishment  caused  the 
Loango  to  grow  dizzy.  He  struck  wildly.  The  breasts 
gave  up  their  blood ! 

The  eyes  of  the  Gabonaise  flashed  wide  open,  her  head 


372  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

reared,  as  does  a  spirited  charger's  who  resents  the  prick 
of  his  master's  spurs. 

Eleven  strokes  had  descended. 

At  sight  of  the  blood  trickling  from  her  breasts,  Hunt 
ingdon  cried: 

«  Stop !  " 

"  Go  on,  slave ! "  commanded  the  Gabonaise,  im 
periously. 

Huntingdon  could  endure  no  more. 

He  turned  and  fled  to  the  bungalow. 

The  chicotte's  hiss  followed  him.  He  felt  the  pain 
of  every  stroke.  It  were  as  though  he  and  not  the 
Gabonaise  were  being  punished. 

He  rushed  into  his  bedroom  and  stumbled  over  an 
ebony  tabouret.  He  sent  it  flying  through  the  open 
window. 

He  tripped  on  the  clothing  of  the  Gabonaise.  That 
too  went  a-flying. 

He  stumbled  over  a  chair.  He  tore  off  its  canvas  and 
broke  the  stout  frame  as  though  it  were  sticks  of  frail 
bamboo. 

He  raged,  he  fumed,  he  blasphemed. 

He  was  furious  with  himself.  He  was  caught  in  the 
web  of  his  own  weaving.  He  had  clothed  the  Gabonaise 
with  all  the  virtues  he  desired  in  the  woman  he  loved. 

He  had  acted  the  human  where  the  brute  should  have 
ruled! 

The  Gabonaise  was  what  she  was  because  she  was. 
He  hated  himself  for  the  web  of  deceit  his  senses  had 
weaved  about  her.  He  had  been  warned,  but,  secure  in 
his  conceited  judgment,  he  took  the  warnings  as  lies, 
slanders ! 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  373 

He  tasted  to  the  full  the  degradation  that  had  come 
upon  him.  He  did  not  spare  himself. 

Then  he  raged  against  women. 

White  or  black,  they  were  all  alike.  Delilahs  robbing 
man  of  his  greatest  strength,  the  strength  to  do  and 
dare  engendered  by  woman  herself! 

He  vowed  to  cast  women  from  his  life.  Whoso  said 
that  they  had  a  spark  of  divine  in  them  lied  miserably, 
so  that  more  suckers  might  be  taken  in. 

Women  were  hell's  flame,  sent  abroad  to  torture  men. 

Women!  He  hated  the  very  sound  of  the  word.  He 
would  ab j  ure  them  forever ! 

Then  his  mood  changed. 

Why  shouldn't  women  be  made  suffer  as  he  had  suf 
fered?  They  had  played  with  and  tortured  him,  he 
would  play  with  and  torture  them.  For  every  hurt  he 
suffered,  they  should  suffer,  for  every  tear  he  had  shed, 
they  should  shed  three-fold.  Oh,  he  would  show  these 
women  who  their  masters  were !  He  would  have  a 
harem  of  women.  They  should  be  slaves,  he  the  mas 
ter  —  cold  and  indifferent  and  heartless  as  a  Turk.  He 
would  crush  out  the  civilization  within  him.  He  would 
lead  such  a  life  of  debauchery  that  even  the  savage 
women  would  beg  his  mercy.  Women  had  killed  his  bet 
ter  nature,  they  should  feel  the  brute  they  had  brought 
into  being! 

He  blew  a  dreadful  blast  upon  his  whistle. 

Ngumbe  came  in  terror. 

"  Find  me  the  youngest  and  prettiest  Ouroungo  woman 
at  once  and  bring  her  here !  " 

Ngumbe  hastened  to  obey. 

As  Huntingdon  had  formerly  delighted  in  thoughts  of 


374  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

the  highest,  now  he  took  satisfaction  in  contemplating 
acts  of  the  basest.  He  would  torture  and  slay  as  he  had 
been  tortured  and  slain.  He  would  out-savage  the 
savage ! 

A  girl  of  fourteen,  lithe  and  graceful,  stood  before 
him. 

"  You  sent  for  me,  O  Great  White  King,"  she  said  in 
halting  English,  her  whole  personality  glowing  with  the 
satisfaction,  the  pride,  that  was  hers  because  Hunting 
don,  the  haughty,  exclusive  Englishman  had  summoned 
her. 

Huntingdon  pulled  her  roughly  to  him,  then  sent  her 
flying  across  the  floor. 

Another  dreadful  blast  from  his  whistle  pierced  the 
stilly  night. 

Again  came  Ngumbe  on  the  feet  of  fear ! 

"  Go  give  the  girl  a  bath,  Ngumbe ;  she's  dirty,  she 
smells.  Give  her  the  clothing  of  the  Gabona'ise." 

Again  the  girl  was  before  him.  Any  other  time  he 
would  have  noticed  her  dainty  beauty.  Her  features 
had  no  trace  of  the  negro,  and  her  flesh  was  the  color  of 
rich  cream.  She  was  a  half-caste,  clean  limbed,  and 
about  her  was  the  grace,  the  freshness  of  the  wild 
gazelle. 

"  Another  manifestation  of  hell,"  Huntingdon 
savagely  cried,  spinning  the  girl  around. 

She  did  not  understand  his  words.  Her  knowledge  of 
English  was  too  slight.  But  she  knew  what  it  was  to 
have  white  men  inspect  black  women. 

She  commenced  to  smirk,  to  unloose  her  pagne,  when 
Huntingdon  picked  her  up  and  tossed  her  roughly  to 
the  bed. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  375 

The  mosquito  bar  was  torn  from  its  frame,  but  Hunt 
ingdon  savagely  threw  it  from  him. 

****** 

Finally  he  took  the  supple,  unresisting  body  in  his 
arms,  bent  the  head  and  feet  backward  until  they  met, 
then,  deaf  to  the  girl's  low  moan  of  pain,  he  left  the 
room,  slamming  the  door  behind  him. 

His  violence  had  spent  itself. 

He  paced  back  and  forth  in  the  great  living-room. 

Tick,  tick,  tick,  the  European  clock  fell  loud  upon  his 
ear  in  the  somnambulance  of  the  night. 

It  revived  the  memories  he  thought  he  had  successfully 
killed.  They  came  crowding  thick  and  fast ;  memories 
of  the  white  woman  who  had  thrown  him  over.  Ah,  the 
wound  was  open  and  bleeding !  It  would  bleed  as  long 
as  he  lived.  He  had  loved  too  honestly  and  deeply  to 
ever  forget.  Countless  eternities  would  find  him  still 
remembering.  That  was  the  running  sore.  She  had 
forgotten,  she  was  married ;  he  saw  it  in  the  English  pa 
pers.  Doubtless  happy.  Happy  !  Some  people  might 
know  its  meaning,  but  he  never. 

He  forgot  the  woman  on  the  floor  in  the  next  room ; 
he  forgot  the  Gabonaise.  He  knew  only  his  own  misery. 
His  Gethsemane  was  complete. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  Gabonaise  lay  face  downward  in  the  sand.  Her 
unclothed,  bruised  body  was  unconscious  of  the  cold 
breezes  from  the  bay  and  the  sting  of  the  many  insects 
feeding  upon  its  wounds.  She  knew  only  one  thing: 
that  an  Ouroungo  woman  was  with  the  man  who  had 
cast  her  forth!  The  woman  would  suffer,  but  as  for 
the  man  —  the  Gabonaise  knew  that  he  was  done  with 
her  forever,  and  she  had  no  desire  to  be  revenged  upon 
him! 

The  vapors  of  night  were  slowly  retreating  before 
the  mystery  of  the  coming  dawn,  when  the  Gabonaise 
raised  her  head.  Her  features  were  Medusa-like  in 
their  frozen  calm. 

Out  of  the  bungalow  came  the  Ouroungo,  clad  in 
Ndio's  most-cherished  dress,  the  pale  green  pagne! 

The  Ouroungo  sneered  as  she  passed  the  Gabonaise  — 
but,  quick  as  a  tigress,  Ndio  sprang  to  her  feet ;  she 
leaped  upon  the  Ouroungo,  she  caught  her  about  the 
neck,  and,  with  a  twist  her  Gabonaise  mother  taught 
her,  she  choked  the  girl  with  the  very  beads  that  adorned 
her  throat ! 

The  murdered  girl  fell  to  the  ground,  the  sneer  still 
upon  her  lips ! 

The  Gabonaise  disappeared ! 

The  watch,  unconscious  of  the  tragedy,  put  out  his 
fire  and  quitted  his  post ! 

376 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  377 

The  birds  chatted  noisily,  night  beasts  sought  their 
lairs,  and  daylight  creatures  ventured  forth  in  search  of 
food. 

The  sun  smiled  o'er  the  earth. 

Another  day  had  dawned  on  Hell's  Playground! 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

"  MASTER,  master,"  called  Ngumbe  excitedly  rushing 
into  the  room.  "  Them  woman  live  for  die.  Her  lay 
for  sand  so,"  and  the  boy  threw  himself  face  down  on 
the  floor. 

Huntingdon  was  startled  and  shocked. 

Had  Ndio  killed  herself?  Had  he  been  too  cruel 
after  all?  Should  he  have  taken  the  unsupported  word 
of  LeBlanc,  the  French  trader?  Yet  Ndio  had  made  no 
denial,  neither  had  she  confessed.  'Tis  true  the  Loango 
had  confessed,  but  such  confession  was  made  in  terror 
of  great  punishment.  But  would  the  Loango  dare  lie 
against  the  Gabonaise,  knowing  as  he  did  the  far-reach 
ing  power  of  the  Mpangwes,  their  swift  vengeance  upon 
their  betrayers?  Would  the  Loango  risk  sure  death 
from  the  Gabonaise  to  escape  any  punishment  Hunting 
don  might  inflict  upon  him?  No.  The  Gabonaise  was 
guilty.  Still  she  did  not  deserve  death.  She  might 
have  lived  and  gone  her  own  way. 

About  the  dead  woman  were  gathered  factory  hands 
and  canoeboys  gesticulating  wildly  and  talking  rapidly. 

Ndio's  name  fell  on  Huntingdon's  ear,  and  the  words 
blood  atonement. 

What  had  blood  atonement  to  do  with  suicide?  Blood 
atonement  was  exacted  only  when  one  free  native  killed 
another. 

378 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  379 

Huntingdon  parted  the  natives,  then  drew  back  horri 
fied,  as  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  Ouroungo! 

"  Look,  Master,"  cried  Ogula,  the  shootman,  pointing 
to  the  dead  girl's  throat.  "  Them  be  proper  Gabonaise 
twist.  Gabonaise  done  kill  the  Ouroungo!  " 

Huntingdon's  mind  worked  quickly.  Ndio  had  mur 
dered  the  Ouroungo  and  Ndio  herself  was  in  danger  of 
death!  Blood  for  blood  was  the  native  law.  Ndio 
would  die  unless  Huntingdon  saved  her! 

No  thought  remained  of  the  wrong  she  had  done  him. 
His  one  idea  was  to  shield  the  woman  from  the  rage  of 
the  Ouroungoes.  Was  he  powerful  enough  to  do  so? 
Had  he  gold  enough  to  buy  off  native  justice?  The 
savages  were  firmly  rooted  in  their  practices.  Blood 
for  blood  had  been  their  law  from  time  out  of  mind. 
Could  he,  a  white  man,  hope  to  buy  off  long-rooted  cus 
tom? 

He  listened  to  the  speech  of  the  Ouroungoes. 

Chief  Ragundo,  the  murdered  girl's  grandfather,  was 
trading  up  the  Ogowe.  A  canoe  had  already  set  out  to 
tell  him  of  the  tragedy.  His  return  meant  Ndio's 
death. 

Where  was  Ndio?  Back  there  in  her  house,  indifferent 
to  her  fate? 

Huntingdon  must  save  her.  Ah,  the  Nigeria  was  due ; 
she  was  down  the  coast.  He  had  already  cabled  Hains  to 
lay  to  for  cargo.  He  would  smuggle  the  Gabonaise 
aboard  the  ship  and  have  Hains  take  her  up  the  coast  to 
her  own  people.  Once  with  them  she  was  safe.  Chief 
Ragundo  could  not  possibly  return  from  the  Ogowe 
under  three  days.  The  English  ship  would  have  come 
and  gone  by  then. 


380  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Other  times  Huntingdon  had  summoned  the  Gabonaise, 
but  now  he  went  in  search  of  her. 

She  was  not  in  her  house.  In  the  ashes  of  the  fire 
lay  her  mirror.  The  ebony  stool  was  upturned,  but  no 
other  disorder  shown. 

"  Huntingdon,  Huntingdon,"  came  Ndio's  voice  from 
the  bush  just  beyond. 

Huntingdon  hurried  in  the  direction  of  the  call. 

The  bush  was  cool  and  shadowy,  the  path  narrow  and 
winding. 

"  Ndio,  Ndio,"  he  called  softly.  "  It  is  I,  Hunting 
don  ;  come  forth,  I  will  save  you." 

"  Ndio,  Ndio,"  came  the  mocking  answer,  and  in  a 
palm  tree  overhead  was  perched  Ndio's  parrot. 

"  Ah,  ha,  Huntingdon,  pauvre  Huntingdon,"  com 
miserated  the  bird  as  Huntingdon  continued  his  search. 

Suddenly,  in  the  primeval  depth  of  nature  run  riot, 
the  awful,  somber,  brooding  silence  overwhelmed  the 
white  man.  Fathomless,  inexplorable  undergrowth  and 
overgrowth  menaced  and  terrified  him ;  he  turned  and 
fled  into  the  open. 

The  sun  beat  upon  his  unprotected  head,  for  in  his 
haste  he  had  set  forth  without  his  helmet.  Its  heat 
bored  through  to  the  very  marrow  of  his  bones,  yet  all 
its  power  could  not  drive  away  the  chills  that  suddenly 
besieged  him.  Malaria  was  full  upon  him,  but  he  heeded 
not  her  misery  in  the  rejoicing  that  was  his  because  of 
the  escape  of  the  Gabonaise.  Blood  atonement  was  too 
terrible  to  think  of  in  connection  with  her ! 

Canoes  were  heading  for  the  beach  from  all  directions. 
Crowds  of  natives  were  already  assembled  thereon. 

"  Makaya,    the    Loango,    him    no    live,"     remarked 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  381 

Ngumbe,  serving  his  master's  coffee  and  fruit  on  the 
veranda.  "  Gabonaise  gone  too,"  and  the  boy  grinned 
knowingly. 

Huntingdon's  blood  boiled  within  him. 

Had  he,  the  master,  been  the  only  one  blind  to  exist 
ing  conditions? 

The  white  men  would  soon  come,  shrug  their  shoulders, 
and  cry :  "  I  told  you  so."  He  was  glad  Moore  and 
Sadler  were  away  in  the  bush.  That  much  humiliation 
was  spared  him.  LeBlanc  was  coming  now. 

He  pushed  his  way  through  the  crowded  natives,  who 
parted  sullenly.  The  Frenchman  was  nervous,  un 
strung,  he  spoke  disjointedly,  and  about  him  was  the 
odor  of  absinthe. 

"  Oh,  these  women,  they're  fiends  when  they're 
aroused.  Mon  Dieu,  Sacre  Coeurf  Tragique!  Quel 
desaster!  La,  la!  The  Commandant  —  notify  him  a  la 
moment,  before  the  natives  tell  him  lies.  Mais,  non, 
non,  I  think  Monsieur  le  Commandant  no  take  action 
until  he  hears  directly  from  you.  No  matter,  he  won't 
get  a  show  at  the  trial  of  La  Belle  Gabonaise.  The 
French  know  enough  in  a  palaver  of  this  sort  to  let 
native  justice  have  its  way.  You  might,  alors,  as  a 
matter  of  form,  ask  le  Commandant  for  the  gendarmes 
to  protect  the  woman !  " 

"  The  Gabonaise  is  gone  —  fled  !  "  Huntingdon  an 
swered  quietly. 

"  Le  diable!     Where  did  she  go  ?" 

"  I  don't  know.     Makaya's  gone  too." 

"  Naturellement,"  and  the  Frenchman  shrugged  his 
shoulders.  "  They're  both  as  good  as  dead.  The  Gabo 
naise  will  kill  the  Loango  for  betraying  her,  and  the 


382  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Ouroungoes  will  dispatch  the  woman  for  killing  the  girl. 
Voila!  " 

LeBlanc  lightly  dismissed  the  matter,  and  poured  him 
self  a  draft  of  absinthe. 

"  Did  it  strike  you,  Monsieur  LeBlanc  that  the  Loango 
will  tell  the  Gabonaue  that  it  was  you  who  betrayed 
her?  " 

Huntingdon's  cruelty  was  deliberate.  It  was  the  first 
time  in  his  life  he  ever  wounded  a  guest.  But  Africa 
had  strangled  the  old,  chivalrous  Huntingdon.  A  newer, 
a  coarser  man  was  in  his  place. 

The  Frenchman's  terror  was  pitiful. 

"  Mon  Dieu,  'tis  true !  The  poison,  the  secret  poison 
will  get  me,  the  poison  of  the  Mpangwes.  Ah,  you  cold 
blooded  Anglais,  does  it  not  frighten  you,  do  you  not 
already  see  me  dead  out  there  in  the  sand  under  those 
cocatiers?  " 

"  Wait  until  you're  dead  before  you  cry,"  sneered 
Huntingdon,  contemptuously.  "  Once  safe  away,  the 
Gabonaise  won't  be  fool  enough  to  return  to  poison  a 
creature  like  you." 

"  Mais,  Mon  Dieu,  she  can  send !  Monsieur  Hunt 
ingdon,  you  do  not  appreciate  the  diablerie  of  these  black 
fiends.  You  refuse  to  understand  them,  otherwise  you 
would  have  known  all  along  what  every  white  and  black 
man  on  the  entire  coast  knew,  that  La  Belle  Gabonaise 
was  making  sport  of  you." 

"  I'll  notify  the  Commandant,"  and  Huntingdon 
abruptly  disappeared  within. 

LeBlanc  poured  another  great  draught  of  absinthe 
and  drank  it  neat. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  383 

"  Ngumbe,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone,  "  how  did  them 
palaver  go  after  I  left  last  night?  " 

"  Me,  I  no  savvy,"  said  the  boy,  contradiction  in  his 
tones. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  do." 

The  Frenchman  laid  a  franc  on  the  table. 

The  boy  reached  for  the  money,  put  it  in  his  cloth 
and  spoke  rapidly  in  a  low  voice,  his  eyes  on  the  door. 

"  When  Frenchman  him  go  for  home,  master  him  call 
them  Loango  for  back  where  big  cotton  tree  live.  Then 
him  blow  for  Gabonaise.  Master  him  head  go  for  him 
hands  so,"  and  the  boy  dropped  his  head  in  his  hands. 
"  Him  make  so  for  long,  long  time.  Them  Loango  all 
time  lay  at  master's  feet,  him  head  in  the  sand.  Them 
Gabonaise  never  come.  Then  master  blow  two  times  two 
times.  Gabonaise  come  from  bungalow  all  same  like 
bushwoman  —  no  cloth.  Master  he  tell  them  Loango 
twenty-five  for  chicotte.  Loango  he  make  them  whip  go 
and  master  him  run  for  house.  Things  for  him  room 
all  make  noise.  I  fear.  Then  master  blow  whistle  hard, 
hard.  Me,  I  come.  Master  him  like  beast  for  jungle. 
Him  cry  for  the  Ouroungo.  The  Ouroungo  come  —  I 
go  for  bed.  At  sunup  them  Ouroungo  live  for  dead. 
Hush,  master  live  !  " 

Huntingdon's  letter  to  the  Commandant  was  brief.  It 
simply  stated  that  a  murder  had  been  committed  on  his 
premises  and  he  awaited  the  pleasure  of  the  Commandant 
to  call  and  report  in  person. 

"  Ah,  Monsieur,  regardez"  cried  the  Frenchman. 
"  Here  comes  the  Commandant's  mistress.  She's  look 
ing  at  you,  Huntingdon.  They  all  look  at  you,  these 


384  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

wenches.  Regardez  encore,  here  come  the  Douane's  mis 
tress,  and  Gottschalk's  and  Wildman's.  The  jolies 
femmes  are  all  out.  Dressed  up,  too,  for  your  benefit. 
Everyone  would  leave  their  owners,  if  you  but  looked 
at  them.  Bah,  you  cold  Anglais,  you  draw  the  ardent 
woman !  We  Frenchmen,  all  fire,  have  no  chance  when 
you're  around !  " 

Huntingdon  remained  silent. 

"  Ah,  you  Anglais.  You  speak  nothing  of  V amour. 
You  live  it  not  again  by  telling  it  to  your  friends.  We 
Frenchmen  must  speak  of  our  mistresses  or  we  are 
miserable!  Ah,  you  fish,  you  CLAM,  you  STONE !  It 
is  so.  The  women  love  you,  a  f rapped  creature,  rather 
than  a  Frenchman  like  me,  who  is  all  fire,  FIRE,  FIRE! 
Here  come  Gottschalk  and  Wildman  themselves,"  he 
broke  off  suddenly,  and  called  out  gayly :  "  Bon  jour, 
mes  ames!  Entrez!  II  fait  bon  ce  matin!  " 

"  Himmel!  these  women,"  said  Gottschalk,  the  German. 
"  They  ought  to  be  all  tied  with  thongs  —  can't  trust 
one  of  them  and  nobody  would  think  of  trusting  a  native 
woman  save  an  Englishman.  A  German  knows  better." 

"  And  so  does  a  Swiss,"  put  in  Wildman. 

"  Master,  police  live,"  warned  Ngumbe. 

Huntingdon  arose  and  returned  the  salute  of  the 
negro  sergeant. 

"  Monsieur  Huntingdon,  we  have  come  for  the  Gabo- 
naise,  Ndio." 

"  She  is  not  here,"  answered  Huntingdon,  quietly. 

"  We  will  look  for  her  in  her  house."  The  sergeant 
saluted  again,  and,  followed  by  his  police  and  an  excited 
crowd  of  natives,  he  set  forth  to  seek  the  Gabonaise. 

"  The  Commandant  would  not  submit  Monsieur  Hunt- 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  385 

ingdon,  a  white  man,  to  a  search  of  his  house  by  black 
police,"  said  LeBlanc  significantly. 

The  German  and  the  Swiss  looked  up. 

"  Can  we  help  you  in  any  way?  "  asked  the  Swiss  of 
Huntingdon. 

It  was  patent  that  the  men  believed  the  Gabonaise  was 
hidden  in  Huntingdon's  bungalow. 

"  Gentlemen,  I  repeat,  the  Gabonaise  has  disap 
peared." 

Not  a  man  believed  Huntingdon,  yet  none  of  them 
gainsaid  him  in  his  presence. 

Ngumbe  reported  that  the  Commandant  was  in  his 
bureau,  and  Avould  receive  Monsieur  Huntingdon  at 
once! 

For  the  first  time  since  his  killing  of  the  leopard  which 
had  terrorized  the  natives,  seven  years  ago,  Huntingdon 
was  allowed  to  pass  without  the  hearty  native  salute: 

"  Mpolo,  mpolo  Tata  Otangani." 

But  Huntingdon  did  not  notice  the  omission.  He 
made  his  way  hurriedly  down  the  beach,  indifferent  to 
the  crowd  that  followed  him. 

The  palaver  with  the  Commandant  was  very  formal. 

The  Commandant  wrote  out  Huntingdon's  statement. 
It  simply  averred  that  a  murder  had  been  committed  on 
his  premises. 

With  a  flourish  the  Commandant  signed  it  —  then 
laid  it  away  to  be  lost. 

Absinthe  was  ordered. 

"  You  ought  to  have  known,  Monsieur  Huntingdon, 
that  these  women  are  not  to  be  trusted.  You  savvy,  how 
the  Gabonaise  deserted  me  for  you  —  "  and  the  French 
man  impatiently  shrugged  his  shoulders  — "  but  she 


386  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

came  back  again.  After  her  last  rendezvous  with  me 
she  stole  nearly  all  my  clothing  and  gave  it  to  her  nigger 
paramour.  The  last  time  you  were  up  at  Ninga  Sika 
and  she  plead  illness,  you  were  no  sooner  across  the  bay 
than  she  was  off  with  my  chef." 

Huntingdon  writhed  beneath  the  Commandant's  dis 
closures.  He  took  draught  after  draught  of  absinthe, 
but  said  nothing. 

"  Now  that  you  savvy  what  these  women  are,  treat 
them  like  the  dirt  under  3'our  feet  —  change  them  at 
will.  The  Consul  General  of  the  Congo  leaves  Braz 
zaville  on  the  23rd,  on  his  way  to  Europe.  He's  bring 
ing  his  mistress  to  me.  She's  a  Portuguese  half-cast. 
The  woman  I  have  now  isn't  half  bad  —  why  don't 
you  take  her?  " 

Disgust  was  again  quick  in  Huntingdon. 

"  No,  thanks,  Monsieur  le  Commandant,  I've  had 
enough  of  women." 

The  Commandant  laughed  and  playfully  pinched 
Huntingdon's  arm. 

"  We  all  say  that,  when  the  barb  of  betrayal  first 
enters.  But  we  soon  forget  —  especially  out  here, 
midst  I 'ennui  and  la  tristesse.  Oh,  en  passant!  I  hear 
you've  telegraphed  the  Nigeria  to  stand  off  Cape 
Lopez  —  The  Commandant  paused,  significantly. 
"  She's  liable  to  anchor  in  the  night.  Can  you  trust 
your  men?  Remember  they're  Ouroungoes,  pledged 
body  and  soul  to  Chief  Ragundo,  the  grandfather  of 
the  murdered  girl,  and  the  head  of  their  tribe.  I  think 
I'd  better  let  you  have  my  tirailleurs.  You  can  depend 
on  them.  They're  Malgash  and  Mohammedans." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  Monsieur  le  Commandant,  but  I 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  387 

assure  you  on  the  honor  of  a  British  gentleman,  the 
Gabonaise  has  escaped." 

Again  the  Commandant  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  As  to  the  Nigeria,"  went  on  Huntingdon,  "  I  did 
telegraph  her  to  put  in.  That  was  before  the  murder. 
I've  a  big  shipment  of  logs  ready.  But  I  confess  to 
you,  had  the  Gabonaise  been  in  hiding,  I  would  have 
done  my  utmost  to  send  her  north  with  Captain  Hains. 
I  couldn't  see  the  woman  delivered  to  her  enemies." 

"  I  hope,  Monsieur  Huntingdon,  for  your  sake  that 
she  has  gotten  safely  away.  She  couldn't  do  so  now. 
The  alarm  has  gone  broadcast.  Cape  Lopez  is  swarm 
ing  with  Ouroungoes.  Their  number  will  grow  greater. 
Chief  Ragundo  is  beloved  by  his  people  and  they  will 
help  him  revenge  his  granddaughter.  Every  hectar  of 
Cape  Lopez  and  the  bush  will  be  scoured  for  her." 

"  The  Loango's  gone  too." 

"  Ah !  That  means  she's  fled  south.  Perhaps  Ma- 
kaya's  powerful  enough  among  his  own  people  to  pro 
tect  her  —  but  I  doubt  it  —  blood  for  blood  is  the  uni 
versal  law  of  the  savages.  If  the  Gabonaise  succeeds  in 
getting  as  far  as  Libreville  in  the  north,  and  off  to  the 
Crystal  Mountains  to  her  own  tribe,  she  will  be  perfectly 
safe.  Her  father  is  a  powerful  king.  I've  marveled 
all  along  why  she  tarried  here  in  this  triste  Cape  Lopez 
when  there  is  the  lieutenant-governor  at  Libreville  — 
a  young,  very  attractive  French  gentleman  —  of  the 
haute  noblesse." 

Although  heavy  with  fever,  tired  and  depressed, 
Huntingdon  continued  to  rejoice  over  the  escape  of  the 
Gabonaise. 

He  did  not  mind  the  swarming  of  the  natives,  their 


388  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

sullen  silence  when  he  passed,  their  constant  guarding  of 
his  premises. 

He  had  nothing  to  conceal.  He  feared  no  danger  to 
himself.  Nevertheless,  he  would  make  a  big  cash  pay 
ment  to  Chief  Ragundo  for  the  loss  of  his  grand 
daughter.  He  sincerely  regretted  the  murder,  but  he 
did  not  consider  that  he  was  in  any  way  responsible  for 
it.  The  old  chief  had  repeatedly  importuned  him  to 
take  his  women,  and  because  he  had  done  so,  and 
tragedy  had  resulted,  the  old  chief  could  do  naught  else 
than  hold  Huntingdon  blameless. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  Nigeria  anchored  during  the  night.  She  was 
immediately  surrounded  by  a  cordon  of  native  canoes. 
The  Ouroungoes  determined  to  frustrate  any  attempt  to 
smuggle  the  Gabonaise  aboard. 

The  Nigeria's  anchor  had  scarce  touched  bottom 
when  a  surf  boat  was  lowered  and  Skipper  Hains  was 
rowed  at  once  to  Huntingdon's  beach. 

Native  canoes  were  detailed  to  follow  the  surf  boat, 
pickets  were  placed  on  the  beach  and  about  Hunting 
don's  bungalow.  It  was  impossible  for  anybody  to  pass 
through  the  lines  of  the  Ouroungoes  without  their 
consent. 

The  skipper  awakened  Huntingdon  from  a  sound 
sleep.  He  held  out  his  broad,  honest  palms  and  cried: 

"  I'm  here,  me  lad.  I  crowded  on  every  pound  of 
steam  to  reach  ye.  It's  a  nasty  mess,  but  I'm  here  to 
get  ye  out  of  it.  Ye  must  have  been  all-fired  mad  to 
have  murdered  the  Gabonaise,  and  ye're  to  be  arrested, 
eh?  Well,  there's  no  French  or  any  other  foreign  na 
tion  going  to  arrest  an  Englishman  when  there's  an 
Irish  skipper  and  his  boat  within  hailing  distance.  As 
for  them  bally  niggers  outside,  come  on,  we'll  show  'em 
how  the  Irish  run  the  gauntlet.  We'll  shell  the  whole 
rotten  gang  if  we  have  to  !  " 

Huntingdon  listened  to  the  Captain's  version  of  the 
tragedy,  then  burst  out  in  nervous  laughter. 

389 


390  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

"  It's  no  laughing  matter  yet,  me  lad ;  wait  until  we 
clear  the  enemy's  lines.  Into  your  duds,  me  boy ;  every 
moment's  precious.  When  daylight  comes  it  won't  be 
so  easy." 

"  You're  a  jolly  fine  friend  in  need,  Skipper,  but 
gossip  got  mighty  badly  twisted  this  time.  I  didn't 
kill  the  Gabonaise.  Sit  down  and  I'll  tell  you  the  true 
palaver." 

Hains  listened  patiently  to  Huntingdon's  recital,  then 
blurted  out: 

"  I'm  blooming  glad,  me  lad,  that  ye  didn't  soil  your 
hands  with  the  murder  of  a  nigger  —  although,  mind 
ye,  I  wouldn't  censure  ye  if  ye  had,  for  young  blood  is 
hot  blood.  As  for  woman-palaver  —  men  will  be  men 
and  niggers  are  niggers.  Ye  plunged  into  the  pit  I 
warned  ye  forninst.  I'm  Irish  and  it  ain't  me  way  to 
censure  a  friend  in  need.  But  if  the  Gabonaise  is  in 
hiding,  give  her  to  me.  I'll  get  her  away  safe  and 
sound.  I'll  put  her  off  at  Gaboon  among  her  own  where 
she'll  be  safe." 

Huntingdon  answered  petulantly :  "  I  tell  you,  Skip 
per,  the  Gabonaise  has  escaped.  Nobody  wants  to  take 
my  word  for  it,  but  I  assure  you  on  my  honor  as  an 
English  gentleman  that  the  woman  got  a.wa,y  !  " 

'  That's  enough,  me  lad.  No  more's  to  be  said. 
But  when  I  got  your  wire  down  the  coast  and  heard 
the  gossip  that  had  come  by  another  wire  that  you  had 
murdered  a  native  woman  and  all  the  rest  of  it  —  I 
swore  by  the  Union  Jack  that  if  you  were  living  when 
I  got  to  Cape  Lopez,  nobody  but  an  Irishman  would 
take  you  prisoner  —  and  that  Irishman  would  be  me. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  391 

Once  aboard  the  Nigeria,  you'd  be  as  free  as  her  hal 
yards." 

"  You're  a  brick,  Skipper,"  began  Huntingdon,  but 
the  doughty  captain,  short,  stalky  and  in  white,  with 
the  four  strips  of  galoon  on  his  sleeves  showing  his  rank, 
cried : 

"  I'm  damned  glad  the  business  is  finished.  Day 
light's  here  and  I'm  hungry  as  a  shark." 

From  the  veranda  he  sounded  a  sharp  blast  on  his 
whistle. 

"  Aye,  aye,  Captain,"  answered  a  voice  from  the 
beach. 

Hains  made  a  megaphone  of  his  hands  and  called  in 
stentorian  tones : 

"  Me  compliments  to  Mr.  Shale,  the  Chief  Steward. 
Have  him  send  off  breakfast  for  two  —  one  time." 

"  Aye,  aye,  Captain." 

Ever  since  the  captain's  entrance  to  Huntingdon's 
bungalow  the  natives  had  grown  in  numbers.  They 
were  sure  a  plot  was  being  hatched  to  smuggle  the 
Gabonaise  aboard  the  English  ship.  In  the  absence  of 
Chief  Ragundo,  his  brothers  directed  affairs.  Their 
orders  were  positive: 

"  The  Gabonaise  shall  not  leave  Cape  Lopez.  She 
shall  suffer  the  atonement.  No  one  can  kill  an  Our- 
oungo  and  live !  " 

Couriers  had  been  sent  throughout  the  entire  coun 
try  summoning  all  the  relatives  of  the  dead  woman, 
even  unto  the  sixth  cousins,  and  every  hour  satv  them 
hastening  to  Cape  Lopez.  The  whole  tribe  of  the  Our- 
oungoes  stood  as  one  man  to  avenge  the  death  of  their 


392  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

kinswoman.  Family  disputes  were  put  aside  for  the 
time.  The  unity  of  revenge  drew  the  savages  together. 

Already  levy  was  also  being  made  for  palm-wine, 
plantains,  manioc,  and  gunpowder  to  celebrate  the  great 
festival  of  death.  The  dead  woman  was  sure  of  a 
proper  burial  ceremony  because  of  the  rank  of  her  grand 
father,  but  the  ceremony  would  be  prolonged  and  more 
riotous  because  of  the  manner  of  her  death. 

Skipper  Hains  ordered  the  ship's  hands  about  load 
ing  timber.  Employment  was  offered  to  any  Cape 
Lopez  natives  who  would  come  forward.  None  com 
plied. 

Hains  was  anxious  to  return  down  the  coast  for  the 
cargo  he  had  passed  up  when  he  received  Huntingdon's 
wire. 

Between  log  rolling  and  lashing,  and  the  excitement 
of  the  jabbering  Ouroungoes,  pandemonium  reigned  on 
the  beach. 

The  Commandant  sent  an  orderly  with  a  note  beg 
ging  the  Englishman  to  let  him  know  if  troops  were 
needed  and  to  remind  Huntingdon  of  the  Commandant's 
friendship  —  but  the  Frenchman  added:  "If  my  men 
see  the  Gabonaise  they  must  take  her."  He  heavily 
underscored  the  word  see. 

Huntingdon  passed  the  note  to  the  skipper. 

'  Not  a  bad  sort  that  —  for  a  Frenchman,"  acknowl 
edged  the  skipper. 

Huntingdon  assured  the  Commandant  that  troops 
were  not  necessary.  He  repeated  that  the  Gabonaise 
was  not  on  the  premises.  That  he  did  not  know  where 
she  was. 

'  Me   lad,    did   ye    get   me    those   carved    ivories    ye 


393 

promised  to  order  six  months  back  ?  "  asked  the  skip 
per. 

"  Yes,  there  are  a  dozen  carved  tusks  in  the  store 
room.  Come  along,  I'll  show  them  to  you  and  you  can 
select  what  you  wish." 

"  They'll  wait  until  after  breakfast.  The  surf  boat's 
putting  off  now.  I'm  so  hungry  I  could  eat  manioc, 
and  I  hate  anything  the  dirty  natives  put  hand  to." 

"  Why  didn't  you  say  you  were  hungry,  Skipper? 
I  would  have  given  you  some  chop." 

"  What !  eat  tins  when  we've  fresh  stuff  aboard  ?  Not 
me." 

The  breakfast  was  plentiful  and  both  men  ate 
heartily. 

They  remained  on  the  veranda  in  full  view  of  the 
natives  until  eleven  o'clock,  when  the  heat  commenced 
to  stoke  up  and  they  retired  to  Huntingdon's  sleeping- 
room. 

"  Stetch  out,  Skipper,"  said  Huntingdon,  "  and  en 
joy  forty  winks." 

"  Faith  and  I  need  them,"  said  the  skipper,  taking 
off  his  coat  and  stretching  at  full  length  on  the  bed. 
"  I  haven't  rested  a  minute  since  I  heard  of  your  mammy 
palaver.  Well,  it's  ended  and  I'm  mighty  glad  of  it. 
I've  given  orders  to  get  them  logs  aboard  as  quick  as 
possible.  I'm  not  needed  here  and  I'm  longing  to  be 
about  me  business.  I'll  look  at  the  ivories  now  and  have 
'em  sent  off,  then  I  can  rest  until  it's  time  to  steam 
away." 

Huntingdon  disappeared  in  the  storeroom  beyond  his 
sleeping-chamber. 

The  place  was  in  total  darkness. 


394  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

He  threw  wide  a  shutter. 

A  flood  of  searching  sunlight  rushed  in,  accompanied 
by  the  heads  of  prying  natives.  They  were  chattering 
excitedly  and  watched  Huntingdon  closely. 

The  latter  went  about  whistling,  indifferent  to  their 
espionage.  He  had  nothing  to  hide  —  nothing  to  fear  ! 

He  stooped  to  pick  up  a  great  carved  ivory,  when  a 
warning  whisper  fell  upon  his  ears,  freezing  the  very 
blood  in  his  veins ! 

"  Huntingdon,  I'm  here,"  came  the  voice  of  the 
Gabonaise. 

Ndio  there,  in  that  room,  where  the  brilliant  sunlight 
might  betray  her  any  moment ! 

He  wanted  to  rush  to  the  window,  to  close  the  shutter, 
but  he  had  no  control  over  his  limbs.  Power  to  move 
had  left  him.  Yet  he  must  act  or  the  woman  would  be 
lost.  She  would  not  have  dared  utter  the  warning 
whisper  had  the  natives  not  been  talking  wildly  among 
themselves. 

An  eternity  seemed  to  elapse  before  Huntingdon 
pulled  himself  together  with  a  mighty  effort. 

Picking  up  a  great  tusk  of  ivory,  he  advanced  to 
wards  the  window. 

"  Here,  you !  " 

A  number  of  natives  essayed  to  jump  into  the  room. 

"  One's  enough.  You  come,"  and  he  indicated  a 
powerful  Ouroungo  who  had  one  leg  over  the  window- 
sill. 

The  fellow  vaulted  lightly  into  the  room. 

Huntingdon  loaded  the  ivory  onto  his  shoulder  and 
commanded : 

"  Into  that  room  !  " 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  395 

The  native  passed  into  Huntingdon's  sleeping-cham 
ber. 

Complete  master  of  himself,  with  slow,  easy  move 
ments,  Huntingdon  leaned  out  of  the  window.  His  wide 
shoulders  covered  the  window  space,  and  the  natives 
retreated  before  him. 

He  looked  out  over  the  black  heads  and  remarked  the 
growing  numbers  of  the  savages. 

"  You  don't  love  your  Mpolo  Tata  Otangani  any 
more,"  he  smiled. 

There  was  sullen  silence. 

Huntingdon  let  the  trap  window  fall  with  a  bang  and 
locked  it. 

"  Ndio,"  he  cried  nervously,  "  I  thought  you  had 
escaped  to  the  bush !  " 

"  I  slipped  in  here  when  you  and  the  others  were 
looking  at  her." 

"  But  that  was  yesterday.  Why  didn't  you  make 
your  presence  known?  Why  did  you  wait?" 

He  was  groping  about  in  the  dark,  trying  to  find 
her. 

"  The  chicottc,  my  legs,  my  sides  —  plenty  —  of  - 
blood." 

Her  voice  was  very  weak. 

He  reached  her.      She  lay  at  his  feet. 

"  You're  wounded,  suffering  — 

"  Save  me,  Huntingdon,  save  me !  " 

The  terror  in  that  once  proud  voice  pierced  Hunt 
ingdon's  very  soul.  He  bent  over  her. 

"  Here,  take  this.  I'll  do  my  best.  But  don't  let 
them  take  you  alive." 

He  put  a  keen-edged  dagger  into  her  hand  and  faced 


396  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

akout  —  just  as  the  Ouroungo  came  through  the  door 
from  his  sleeping-chamber. 

"  I've  something  for  you,  my  man,"  said  Hunting 
don  lightly  in  the  Ouroungo  tongue,  pushing  the  native 
ahead  of  him.  "You've  got  to  go  out  through  the 
chop  room.  The  storeroom  window's  locked." 

The  native  grunted  in  recognition  of  a  head  of  to 
bacco  and  passed  out. 

Skipper  Hains  lay  with  his  eyes  shut. 

Huntingdon's  mind  was  in  a  whirlwind.  Ndio  was 
there,  wounded,  he  must  save  her,  but  how!  HOW  ! ! 

He  paced  back  and  forth. 

The  captain  opened  his  eyes. 

"  Double  up  on  your  quinine,  me  lad,  and  take  a  stiff 
drink.  Your  nerves  are  going  some.  You're  the 
color  of  chalk.  Malaria,  eh?  Rotten  ailment.  Come, 
take  a  run  down  the  coast  with  me.  A  change  on  the 
ship  will  do  you  good.  A  severe  dose  of  Africa  just 
now'll  bowl  you  out,  and  mebbe  for  good." 

"  She's  there,  Skipper,  the  Gabonaise  is  there,"  cried 
Huntingdon,  wildly  pointing  to  the  storeroom. 

The  skipper  jumped  to  his  feet,  grabbed  his  coat  and 
buttoned  it  furiously. 

"  A  pretty  kettle  of  fish !  "  he  ejaculated. 

"  I  didn't  know  it,  Skipper,  I  didn't  know  it  until 
just  now.  I  give  you  my  word  —  I  didn't  — 

"  That's  all  right,  me  lad,  softly,  softly." 

"  She's  wounded,  weak,  suffering !  She  crawled  in 
there  yesterday  morning  when  the  natives  and  myself 
were  crowded  about  the  dead  woman.  We've  got  to 
save  her,  Skipper,  we've  got  to  save  her !  " 

Huntingdon's  voice  broke  and  he  cried  like  a  woman. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  397 

"  Let  the  wench  take  her  medicine.  She  gave  it  to 
ye  pretty  strong,"  answered  the  skipper,  testily. 

Through  his  tears  Huntingdon  plead  for  the  woman 
who  had  so  foully  wronged  him. 

"  Skipper,  the  Gabonaise  saved  me  from  death  more 
than  once.  Didn't  she  nurse  me  back  to  life  when  black- 
water  had  all  but  got  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  she  saved  ye  for  herself  —  because  she  wanted 
ye  —  the  brute  !  " 

"  Didn't  she  intercept  the  medicine  Itula  made  for  me 
when  I  caught  him  stealing  from  my  new  factory?  " 

"  It  takes  a  thief  to  catch  a  thief,  and  a  murderer  to 
trap  a  murderer." 

"  Didn't  she  repeatedly  risk  death  for  me  by  tasting 
every  bit  of  my  food  before  it  came  to  my  table?  " 

"  Ye  repaid  her  a  thousandfold !  " 

"  Ah,  Skipper,  shall  it  be  said  that  an  Englishman 
is  found  wanting  when  the  test  comes?  Shall  it  be  said 
an  Englishman  lacks  gratitude?  " 

The  skipper  was  silent. 

Despair  settled  upon  Huntingdon,  and  he  cried: 

"  I'll  give  myself  up  to  the  Ouroungoes.  Blood  for 
blood  is  their  demand.  White  blood  is  richer  than  black 
—  they'll  accept  the  substitute  !  " 

Huntingdon  was  unnerved  —  he  scarce  knew  what 
he  was  doing. 

He  started  for  the  door. 

The  skipper  hauled  him  back.  Huntingdon  tried  to 
shake  him  off,  but  the  skipper's  grip  was  powerful  and 
he  raged :  "  When  it  comes  to  substitutes  it  won't  be  a 
white  man  and  an  English  nobleman  at  that  for  any  hea 
then  nigger  wench.  So  rest  easy  —  while  I  think  a  bit." 


398  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

All  trace  of  weariness  vanished  from  the  skipper. 
He  was  the  man  of  action ! 

Huntingdon  collapsed  on  the  bed. 

The  skipper  lighted  his  meerschaum  and  puffed  vig 
orously. 

"  I  presume  ye  can  trust  the  Commandant  in  this 
affair?  "  he  finally  asked. 

Huntingdon  nodded. 

"  His  soldiers,  what  they  be?  " 

"  Malgash!  " 

"  Good." 

"  You're  not  going  to  make  a  bolt  for  the  Nigeria 
with  her,  are  you  ?  "  and  Huntingdon  stared  wildly  at 
the  captain. 

"Do  I  look  like  such  a  dom  fool,  me  lad?  Looks  is 
mighty  deceivin'  then.  Midday  —  I'm  hungry.  Cox- 
'un,"  he  roared  out  over  the  veranda. 

"Aye,  aye,  sir." 

The  natives  listened  sullenly  as  the  captain  shouted 
his  orders : 

"  Me  compliments  to  the  chief  steward.  I'll  lunch 
ashore  with  Mr.  Huntingdon.  Send  plenty  of  grub  — 
some  roast  beef,  raws  eggs,  some  canned  milk  and  a  bot 
tle  of  Hennesy !  " 

"  Aye,  aye,  Captain,"  the  man  saluted  and  started 
away  but  the  skipper  yelled,  as  he  darted  within : 

"  Stand-by  a  bit." 

He  hurried  to  the  storeroom,  closing  the  door  softly 
behind  him.  Huntingdon  heard  a  match  light.  Then 
Hains  came  forth  almost  immediately  and  out  on  the 
veranda  he  shouted  to  his  coxswain : 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  399 

"  Mr.  Huntingdon's  cook's  taken  French  leave.  Have 
the  boy,  Iguela,  come  to  take  his  place." 

"  Aye,  aye,  Captain." 

Iguela,  a  slender  Mandigan,  clad  only  in  a  loin  cloth 
stepped  on  to  the  veranda.  Hains  rushed  forth  and 
laid  a  chicotte  vigorously  across  his  shoulders,  bellowing : 

"  Ye  blue-spotted  son  of  Ham  !  Don't  ye  know  better 
than  to  come  ashore  to  serve  me  undressed  like  the 
heathen  ye  are?  Get  off  to  the  ship,  one  time,  and  put 
on  your  clothes  —  all  of  them,  d'ye  hear  ?  If  ye  play 
me  a  trick  like  that  again,  I'll  flog  the  life  out  of  ye." 

The  boy  ran  with  all  his  might  towards  the  beach, 
the  Ouroungoes  jeering  at  his  discomfiture. 

Again  the  captain  3^elled : 

"  Send  Sampson !  " 

Sampson,  the  big,  powerful  Kru,  appeared. 

The  natives  crowded  closer  —  they  weren't  going  to 
be  caught  napping.  Their  suspicions  of  the  skipper  had 
been  continually  growing.  Runners  reported  from  all 
parts  of  the  bush  that  the  Gabonaise  had  not  passed 
through.  The  Englishman  had  declared  she  was  not  on 
his  premises  but  he  evidently  knew  where  she  was  hid 
den.  They  would  watch  him,  and  get  her ! 

"  Sampson,  how  long  it  be  before  them  logs  be  all 
stowed?  "  roared  Hains. 

"  Sundown,  master ;  the  surf  runs  heavy  —  it  and  the 
Ouroungoes  keep  back  the  work." 

"  Do  you  expect  to  keep  me  laying  around  this  flea- 
bitten  hole  all  that  time?  "  raged  Skipper  Hains  in  tones 
loud  enough  to  be  heard  away  out  in  the  bay,  where  his 
ship  was  anchored.  "  Logs  must  all  be  stored  by  four 


400  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

o'clock.  Put  more  men  at  work  and  flog  the  interfering 
natives  out  of  the  way,  savvy?  " 

"  Aye,  aye,  Captain." 

"  Here's  a  key  —  take  it  to  the  first  officer  and  tell 
him — "  the  skipper  fumbled  through  his  pockets,  then 
began  to  swear.  "Where  in  hell' re  my  keys?  Come 
here,  Sampson,  they're  inside." 

Away  from  the  prying  natives,  the  captain  lowered 
his  voice  and  spoke  quickly : 

"  Sampson,  if  them  logs  is  all  stowed  BEFORE  sun 
down  YOU  GET  DOCKED  A  MONTH'S  WAGES, 
savvy?  " 

The  eyes  of  the  intelligent  Km  and  those  of  the  Irish 
man  met. 

"  I  savvy,  master." 

"  Now  get  to  work,"  roared  Hains,  once  more  on  the 
veranda  and  playing  to  the  gallery.  "  This  is  a  hell 
of  a  place  —  if  my  keys  are  lost  somebody'll  get  it. 
See  to  it  that  ye  have  the  ship  scoured  for  them.  And 
tell  Mr.  Frazer  to  get  up  steam.  We  leave  at  four 
o'clock.  Not  another  minute'll  I  pass  in  this  infernal 
hole  if  I  go  begging  for  cargo !  " 

"  Is  it  all  arranged?  "  asked  Huntingdon,  through  his 
chattering  teeth. 

He  lay  on  the  bed,  smothered  in  blankets  and  tarpaul 
ins.  African  fever  was  shaking  the  life  out  of  him. 
His  temperature  was  high,  dangerously  high,  his  eyes 
unnaturally  bright,  and  a  red  spot  burned  on  either 
cheek.  The  unexpected  discovery  of  the  Gabonaise  had 
completely  unnerved  him  and  fever  laid  him  helpless. 

"  Softly,  softly,  me  lad,  here  come  grub  and  Iguela." 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  401 

Iguela  was  clad  in  a  white  duck  suit  —  his  feet  and 
head  bare. 

"  Bring  the  drinks  and  the  eggs  and  milk  in  here, 
Iguela.  Open  them  brandy  and  do  ye  lay  the  table  on 
the  veranda  and  stand-by  for  service." 

The  skipper  intently  watched  the  coming  and  going 
of  Ngumbe. 

The  moment  he  was  waiting  for  came. 

The  living-room  was  deserted. 

Slamming  the  eggs  into  a  glass,  jamming  his  knife 
into  a  can  of  milk  and  grabbing  the  bottle  of  Hennesy, 
the  skipper  disappeared  into  the  storeroom  and  was 
back  again  in  less  time  than  it  takes  to  record  it. 

Huntingdon  smiled  gratefully,  but  made  no  comment. 

Dinner  was  announced. 

"  Up,  up,  me  lad.  Tough  lines,  but  ye've  got  to 
avoid  suspicion.  It's  well  the  savages  are  sober,  else 
there'd  be  no  controlling  them.  And  if  ye  didn't  stand 
in  such  good  feather  with  them,  it'd  be  worse  for  ye. 
Ye've  always  treated  the  vermin  square  an'  honorable. 
They  heard  ye  pass  your  Word  that  the  wench  was  not 
here  —  so  act  up  to  it,  or  Irish  Hains  won't  answer  for 
the  consequences." 

The  skipper  pushed  back  the  heavy  covering  and 
helped  Huntingdon  to  his  feet. 

Huntingdon  could  scarcely  stand  upright.  His  head 
throbbed,  his  eyeballs  burned,  every  joint  in  his  body 
pained  him,  and  his  knees  were  almost  bent  under  him. 

The  Irishman  gave  him  a  full  tumbler  of  brandy,  and 
with  it  Huntingdon  washed  down  a  handful  of  powdered 
quinine. 

Again  the  meal  was  eaten  in  full  view  of  the  natives. 


402  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Every  mouthful  choked  Huntingdon  and  'twas  all  he 
could  do  to  restrain  his  stomach  from  rejecting  it. 

He  crowded  on  more  brandy  —  natural  endurance 
he  had  none. 

Over  the  heads  of  the  Ouroungoes  Hains  bellowed : 

"  Sampson,  hurry  up  the  boys!  No  palavering  over 
chop!  If  logs  ain't  all  stowed  by  four  o'clock  not 
a  son  of  Ham'll  receive  tuppence  !  " 

Iguela  was  squatted  on  the  veranda. 

"  Stand-by,  me  lad,"  roared  Skipper  Hains.  "  I've 
got  ivories  for  ye  to  take  aboard." 

Inside  the  bedroom  Hains  shouted: 

"  With  your  leave  I'm  going  to  turn  in,  Mr.  Hunting 
don.  Do  likewise,  the  heat's  infernal." 

But  Huntingdon  was  already  in  bed.  Fever  was  again 
shaking  the  life  out  of  him. 

Growling  about  the  heat  and  the  glare,  the  skipper 
loudly  banged  windows  and  shutters  to. 

The  chatter  without  died  away,  as  the  natives  sought 
the  shade  from  the  intense  o'erhead  rays  of  the  noon 
day  sun. 

But  a  strict  watch  was  kept  on  bungalow  and  beach. 

Iguela  lay  snoring  on  the  veranda. 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  Skipper,"  cried  Huntingdon  in  a 
tragic  whisper,  "  tell  me  your  plan  and  end  my  misery !  " 

"  Softly,  me  lad,  softly.  One  head's  enough  to  man 
age  this  business.  Have  you  got  a  pair  of  decent 
clippers  ?  " 

Huntingdon  pointed  to  a  nail  on  the  wall. 

The  captain  took  down  the  clippers. 

He  went  to  the  storeroom  and  lead  out  the  Gabonaise. 

She  was  pitifully  weak. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  403 

Huntingdon  hid  his  head  and  groaned  when  he  beheld 
her  lacerated  flesh. 

She  was  still  nude. 

Tenderly  the  skipper  wrapped  a  great  bath  towel 
about  her,  and  placed  her  in  a  chair.  He  bade  Hunting 
don  hold  a  pillowcase  while  he  clipped  her  hair. 

Not  a  strand  of  it  was  permitted  to  fall ! 

Not  a  word  was  spoken ! 

Suddenly,  the  Gabonaise  kissed  the  skipper's  hand ! 

Roughly,  the  skipper  drew  away,  but  there  were  tears 
in  his  eyes ! 

The  woman  was  sorely  maimed !  Through  her  lacer 
ated  sides  her  ribs  showed ;  her  left  breast  was  split 
open  and  her  face  was  swollen  and  distorted  beyond 
recognition. 

Huntingdon  could  bear  up  no  longer ! 

He  threw  himself  on  the  bed  and  sobbed  convulsively ! 

Tenderly  the  skipper  lead  the  Gabonaise  back  to  the 
storeroom. 

He  held  low  converse  with  her  —  again  and  again  he 
repeated  his  commands. 

As  he  closed  the  door,  he  growled  in  his  worst  tones : 

"  Damn  nigger  wenches'rc  more  bother  than  they're 
worth.  But  I'm  Irish  —  Irish  — " 

He  ignored  the  storm  of  emotion  besieging  Hunting 
don. 

He  settled  himself  in  a  chair  and  smoked  pipe  after 
pipe. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

FOUR  o'clock  came. 

Black  smoke  belched  from  the  Nigeria's  funnels. 

The  logs  were  not  nearly  all  loaded.  The  skipper 
was  on  the  beach  swearing  lustily.  He  wouldn't  pay 
a  nigger  tuppence  because  of  slow  work !  He  was  go 
ing  to  put  out  at  once!  He  wouldn't  delay  another 
moment ! 

"  Give  me  until  sundown,"  begged  Sampson,  the  Km, 
in  a  loud  voice. 

"  Until  sundown  then,  you  son  of  Ham,  but  not  a 
second  longer ! "  raged  Skipper  Hains,  and  Sampson, 
chicotte  in  hand,  plunged  into  the  surf  and  vigorously 
belabored  the  perspiring  crewboys. 

But  the  tide  was  coming  in ;  the  surf  roared  ominously, 
hurling  spray  in  all  directions,  and  impeding  the  lashing 
and  towing  of  the  timber.  The  cretvboys  too  were 
exhausted  and  worked  indifferently. 

The  natives  were  packed  solid.  They  grew  more 
excited  as  the  hour  for  the  Nigeria's  departure  drew 
nigh. 

Along  the  beach  the  Commandant  preceded  by  his 
police  was  seen  approaching.  The  Douane,  LeBlanc, 
Gottschalk  and  Wildman  brought  up  the  rear. 

With  lowered  bayonets,  the  guard  forced  a  pass 
through  the  throng. 

The  white  men  gained  Huntingdon's  veranda. 
404 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  405 

They  greeted  each  other  as  though  nothing  were 
amiss. 

Drinks  and  cigarettes  were  proffered  and  accepted. 

Every  action  was  visible  and  every  word  spoken  was 
audible  to  the  crowding  natives. 

Everything  else  was  discussed  save  the  matter  in  hand. 
It  was  ignored  by  tacit,  mutual  understanding. 

Odds  were  laid  that  the  logs  would  not  be  stowed  by 
sundown.  The  skipper  swore  repeatedly  that,  logs  or 
no  logs,  at  sundown  the  Nigeria  would  steam  away. 

Although  apparently  the  usual  leave-taking  when  a 
steamer  was  about  to  leave  port,  each  and  every  white 
man  knew  that  a  crisis  was  approaching.  They  felt  it 
in  the  surcharged  air ;  the  pushing  and  crowding  of  the 
determined  natives ;  in  Skipper  Hains'  assumed  bluster ; 
and  in  Huntingdon's  strained  silence. 

The  Commandant  had  his  mind  made  up.  He  would 
have  no  blood  shed  for  the  Gabonaise.  He  would  de 
liver  her  to  the  Ouroungoes.  He  was  sorry  to  follow 
such  a  course,  but  what  else  could  he  do  ?  His  spies  had 
warned  him  that  the  Gabonaise  had  not  yet  been  smug 
gled  aboard  the  Nigeria,  that  she  had  not  passed  through 
the  bush,  and  he  never  for  an  instant  believed  Hunting 
don's  assertions  that  the  woman  had  escaped.  Had  an 
attempt  been  made  in  the  darkness  of  the  previous  night 
to  get  the  woman  aboard  the  English  steamer,  the  Com 
mandant  would  have  abetted  it.  Hence  the  offer  of  his 
guard  to  Huntingdon.  But  Huntingdon  persisted  in 
declaring  that  the  Gabonaise  had  escaped.  Now  it  was 
too  late  —  she  must  be  delivered  to  the  Ouroungoes! 

Huntingdon  was  in  a  sweat  of  agony.  His  physical 
misery  was  nothing  compared  with  the  agony  of  sus- 


406  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

pense.  How  would  the  skipper  ever  smuggle  Ndio 
through  that  watchful,  vengeful  crowd ! 

Huntingdon  bent  over  with  the  weight  of  his  woe. 

The  skipper  gave  him  a  terrific  poke  in  his  ribs. 

"  Here's  good  luck  to  Mr.  Huntingdon,"  he  roared. 

Huntingdon  came  to  life. 

"  Ngumbe,"  he  cried,  "  to  the  factory.  More  brandy 
and  absinthe !  " 

"  And  champagne,"  shouted  Hains. 

The  drinks  came  thick  and  fast.  The  white  men 
grew  more  animated.  They  stood  up  drinking  to  each 
other's  health.  They  were  nervous,  all  but  hysterical. 
The  tension  was  telling  on  them. 

"  Iguela !  "  suddenly  bawled  the  skipper. 

The  boy  came  forward. 

"  Heave  this  stale  stuff  overboard  and  bring  me  a 
clean  glass !  " 

The  tumbler  was  half  full  of  brandy. 

Iguela  turned  towards  the  galley. 

The  skipper's  keen  blue  eyes  followed  him.  His  face 
flamed  so  that  the  blood  seemed  ready  to  burst  from  their 
arteries.  The  perspiration  trickled  through  his  white 
clothing. 

Suddenly  Iguela  raised  the  glass  to  his  lips  and  drained 
its  contents ! 

Skipper  Hains  mopped  the  sweat  from  his  brow.  He 
grew  boisterous,  something  unusual  for  him.  Forgetful 
of  his  dignity  he  danced  a  fisher's  hornpipe.  The  white 
men  clapped  their  hands  in  time  with  his  step.  The  na 
tives  looked  on  in  stolid  silence. 

Suddenly  the  skipper  resumed  his  dignity. 

He  glanced  over  the  bay. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  407 

The  sun  was  nearing  the  horizon  ! 

Another  round  of  drinks ! 

The  great  blood-red  disc  of  day  hovered  on  the 
water's  edge,  then  suddenly  disappeared. 

A  gun  bellowed  from  the  Nigeria's  decks. 

Down  came  the  ship's  flag.  On  the  beach  at  the 
Douant's  and  the  Commandant's  flags  were  also  lowered. 

"  Sundown,  by  all  the  gods !  "  roared  Irish  Hains. 
"  Logs  or  no  logs,  off  we  go.  Sampson,  every  man 
aboard !  Let  the  logs  in  the  water  go.  I've  already 
delayed  too  long !  " 

On  board  and  in  the  water  there  was  great  commotion. 
Ropes  were  hauled  in,  winches  withdrawn,  hatches  closed. 
The  crewboys  on  the  unloaded  logs  dived  into  the  water ; 
the  logs  floated  out  with  the  tide. 

"  Where's  that  Iguela,"  thundered  Skipper  Hains. 
"  Iguela,  Iguela !  " 

The  Mandigan  came  slowly  forward. 

"  Get  a  move  on,"  roared  the  Irishman.  "  Don't  act 
like  a  corpse.  Get  in  there  and  bring  out  them  ivories. 
And  be  quick  about  it." 

He  gave  the  boy  a  shove  which  sent  him  sprawling 
within  Huntingdon's  bedroom. 

The  natives  edged  closer  together.  An  ominous  si 
lence  reigned. 

At  a  signal  from  the  Commandant,  the  sharpshooters 
stood  attention. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  the  skipper,  and  his  voice  rang 
loud  and  clear  in  the  tense  stillness,  "  your  company  to 
dinner  on  the  Nigeria.  I've  ordered  a  good  spread." 

"  To  dinner  on  the  Nigeria,"  cried  the  white  men  in 
unison,  raising  their  glasses  as  one  man,  in  a  final  drink. 


408  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Mechanically  Huntingdon  had  acted  with  them. 

The  decisive  moment  had  come. 

What  would  happen  ? 

The  white  men  instinctively  drew  closer  together.  All 
but  Huntingdon  and  the  skipper. 

Huntingdon  was  collapsing.  Ndio  was  abandoned  to 
her  fate. 

It  was  impossible,  utterly  impossible  to  smuggle  her 
through  that  watchful,  vengeful  crowd. 

She  was  lost ! 

The  guards  with  lowered  bayonets  tried  to  part  the 
crowd. 

Only  a  narrow  opening  was  essayed. 

The  white  men  would  have  to  pass  through  in  single 
file!  No  chance  would  they  have  to  smuggle  the  woman 
with  them. 

The  tropical  night  was  falling  quickly. 

The  moon  was  already  growing  bright. 

The  eyes  of  the  natives  like  one  solid  battery  were 
trained  on  the  white  men,  while  their  hands  rested  on 
their  belts  and  fingered  long,  ugly-looking  knives  ! 

Iguela  came  slowly  forth,  his  hands  upraised  to  steady 
the  ivories  on  his  head. 

"  Make  way  there !  "  bellowed  Hains,  like  an  enraged 
bull,  pushing  Iguela  ahead  and  laying  on  right  and  left 
with  his  short  chicotte. 

The  crowd  closed  in  after  them.  The  natives  mur 
mured  sullenly.  All  their  faculties  were  alert.  Then 
someone  whispered: 

"  Watch  Mpolo  Tata  Otangani!  " 

The  whisper  was  taken  up,  and,  like  a  wave,   over 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  409 

the  throng  swept  the  warning:  Watch  Mpolo  Tata 
0  tang  anil 

"  Sergeant,  make  way !  "  came  the  Commandant's 
crisp  command. 

The  Malagasys  forced  an  open  path. 

The  white  men,  one  by  one,  descended  to  the  beach. 

All  save  Huntingdon,  who  was  last. 

The  natives  closed  the  path  and  he  was  hemmed  in. 

"  Where  is  the  Gabonaise?  "  someone  demanded. 

Then  came  the  titanic  threat: 

DELIVER  US  THE  GABONAISE  ! 

The  crisis  had  come! 

With  lowered  bayonets  the  tirailleurs  tried  to  force 
their  way  back  to  the  Englishman. 

The  natives  stood  a  solid  phalanx.  They  budged 
not  an  inch ! 

The  guns  of  the  sharpshooters  were  leveled ! 

Hammers  clicked! 

Awaited  was  the  command  to  fire ! 

The  lives  of  the  white  men  hung  in  the  balance! 

Ragundo's  brothers  had  expressly  charged  the  Our- 
oungoes  not  to  begin  an  assault.  But  once  the  guns  of 
the  guard  spoke,  not  a  white  man  would  be  left  to  tell 
the  tale. 

And  every  white  man  knew  it! 

Huntingdon  tried  to  force  his  way  back  to  the  bunga 
low.  He  would  die  by  the  side  of  the  Gabonaise. 

His  act  in  extremis  proved  his  salvation. 

The  natives  blocked  behind  him  pushed  forward. 
He  was  buffeted  this  way  and  that,  but  always  to 
wards  the  beach! 


410  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Huntingdon  had  his  wits  now.  He  correctly  sized 
up  the  situation  !  He  would  go  to  the  beach !  It  would 
disarm  suspicion  that  the  Gabonaise  was  in  his  bungalow  ! 
He  rejoiced  that  his  attempt  to  return  to  the  bungalow 
had  not  betrayed  the  woman's  hiding  place  ! 

Huntingdon  squared  his  broad  shoulders ! 

The  full  realization  of  his  position  was  upon  him ! 

His  weakness  had  vanished !  He  did  not  care  for  his 
own  life,  but  he  could  not  desert  the  Gabonaise,  nor 
would  he  permit  the  lives  of  his  friends  to  be  sacrificed 
if  he  could  avert  it. 

He  maneuvered  so  that  the  natives  who  thought  to 
withstand  him  formed  the  rush  line  which  made  his 
descent  to  the  beach  possible. 

He  feared  every  moment  the  Commandant's  order  to 
fire.  He  knew  it  would  be  the  death  signal  for  his 
comrades  and  himself. 

He  longed  to  cry  out  to  the  Commandant  to  remain 
silent.  But  he  did  not  wish  to  show  fear,  nor  to  betray 
his  presence. 

Thanks  to  the  fever  and  chills  consuming  him,  he 
wore  a  dark  flannel  shirt. 

Right  in  front  of  him  was  big  Ogula,  the  shootman. 
Behind  him  was  Nkombi  Kakhi,  his  brother. 

There  seemed  to  be  some  understanding  between  the 
bushmen.  But  Huntingdon  was  unaware  of  it. 

The  crowd  pushed  and  swayed,  ominously  silent. 

From  the  beach  rolled  a  tremendous  threat: 

"  Who  harms  a  hair  of  the  Englishman's  head  shall 
answer  to  England!  Cape  Lopez  shall  be  shelled  and 
every  nigger  sent  to  hell !  " 

Stock-still  stood  the  negroes.     Many  of  them  did  not 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  411 

understand  the  words,  but  their  portent  was  unmistak 
able! 

Huntingdon's  danger  was  now  greatest. 

His  way  to  the  beach  was  completely  blocked  by  a 
solid  phalanx  of  awed  natives.  There  had  been  hope 
before  in  the  pushing  and  shoving. 

A  sullen  growl  commenced  among  the  Ouroungoes. 

Their  patience  was  exhausted  —  the  leash  that  held 
them  was  at  breaking  point. 

The  white  men  were  never  nearer  death !  The  natives 
were  mad  for  action,  when  on  the  surcharged  air  there  fell 
a  shrill  cry : 

"  Chief  Ragundo,  he  live,  he  live !  " 

Huntingdon  was  startled  —  now  the  Gabonaise  was  in 
for  it.  No  power  on  earth  could  save  her ! 

Again  helplessness  enveloped  him. 

He  could  neither  return  to  her  and  die  with  her,  nor 
go  forward  to  his  friends. 

All  was  lost! 

He  would  have  sunk  into  a  heap  had  not  the  dense 
mass  held  him  upright. 

Then  over  Huntingdon's  shoulder  reached  the  mighty 
arm  of  Nkombi  Kakhi !  It  rested  on  the  shoulder  of 
his  brother,  Ogula,  the  shootman ! 

Gently  Huntingdon  was  forced  close,  close  to  Ogula. 
The  three  men  were  as  one. 

"  Mbega,  them  cry  be  Mbega,  master,"  whispered 
Nkombi  Kakhi  in  the  white  man's  ear. 

Ah,  Mbega,  the  busJiboy!  Mbega,  who  had  declared 
Huntingdon  to  be  his  proper  master  seven  long  years 
ago,  and  who  had  served  him  faithfully  all  that  time  1 

Courage  came  to  Huntingdon.     Let  white  men  con- 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

tinue  to  desert  him,  three  friends  were  left  him :  Ogula, 
the  shootman,  Nkombi  Kakhi,  his  brother,  and  Mbega, 
the  bushboy! 

There  was  a  fighting  chance  —  Huntingdon  seized  it. 

"  Ogula,  master  must  ketch  them  beach,"  he  whispered 
into  the  ear  of  the  giant. 

The  words  had  scarce  passed  his  lips  e'er  Ogula's 
mighty  lungs  took  up  Mbega's  cry: 

"  Chief  Ragundo,  he  live,  he  live !  " 

"  Chief  Ragundo,  he  live,  he  live ! "  then  shouted 
Nkombi  Kakhi  in  the  Ouroungo  tongue. 

Like  a  rushing  wave  the  cry  was  taken  up  and  floated 
out  to  sea ! 

A  gentle  push  from  Ogula  started  the  man  in  front 
of  him,  and  soon  every  native  was  desirous  of  reaching 
the  beach. 

They  wanted  to  be  on  hand  to  greet  their  chief  as 
he  stepped  from  his  canoe. 

Quicker,  quicker  came  the  pace.  The  giant  Ogula 
pulled  Huntingdon's  arms  about  his  waist,  Nkombi 
Kakhi  edged  closer  to  Huntingdon.  The  three  men 
as  one,  gained  the  beach,  then  Huntingdon  made  a 
dash  as  Ogula,  the  shootman,  stepped  from  in  front  of 
him. 

He  vaulted  lightly  into  the  Nigeria's  life  boat,  from 
the  stern  of  which  flew  the  Union  Jack ! 

"  Safe  on  English  soil,  by  gad !  "  thundered  Skipper 
Hains,  from  the  gunwale  in  front  of  Iguela,  who  sat 
in  the  prow,  the  ivories  on  his  knees. 

The  other  white  men  were  already  in  the  boat,  and 
natives  were  plunging  into  the  surf  from  all  directions. 

The  furious  incoming  tide  swept  over  the  surf  boat 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  413 

drenching  its  occupants  and  threatening  to  capsize  it. 

"  Cast  off,  one  time,"  roared  Irish  Hains,  his  hand  on 
Iguela's  head  to  steady  himself. 

It  was  Ogula,  the  shootman,  Nkombi  Kakhi,  his 
brother,  Mbega,  the  bushboy,  and  Sampson,  the  Kru, 
who  obeyed  the  command. 

The  undertow  caused  the  boat  to  pitch  head  on  and 
its  occupants  were  thrown  into  a  heap.  Skipper  Hains 
fell  on  Iguela  and  roared : 

"  Sampson,  the  tiller!  " 

With  one  leap  Sampson  gained  it.  He  threw  all  his 
great  strength  against  it ;  he  spoke  quickly  in  his  own 
tongue  to  his  oarsmen,  other  mighty  Krus,  the  pick  of 
his  force.  Dexterously  the  head  of  the  boat  was  kept 
to  sea,  while  the  angry  surf  combated  her  right  of  way, 
but  slowly  the  boat  was  carefully  worked  out  of  the 
trough  and  on  to  the  rollers ! 

Skipper  Hains  doffed  his  helmet  and  welcomed  the 
night  breeze.  He  sent  Iguela  sprawling  to  the  bottom 
of  the  boat  and  took  his  seat  in  the  prow. 

Out  on  the  bay  in  the  moonlight  a  sailing-canoe  was 
driving  at  full  speed  before  the  stiff  breeze  straight  for 
Cape  Lopez.  It  was  the  sail  which  had  prompted 
Mbega's  cry  and  which  made  his  ruse  possible.  Hence 
the  natives  made  no  attempt  to  stop  the  surf  boat. 
They  were  confident  the  Gabonaise  was  not  aboard. 
They  awaited  their  chief  —  he  would  find  the  Gabo 
naise. 

The  Nigeria  reached,  Skipper  Hains  flogged  Iguela 
up  the  ladder. 

"  Put  them  ivories  in  me  cabin,  and  take  your  black 
mug  out  of  me  sight,"  he  bellowed. 


4,14.  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Huntingdon  brooded  in  silence. 

The  skipper  had  failed  him.  There  was  but  one  thing 
for  him  to  do:  to  deliver  himself  to  the  Ouroungoes. 
They  would  haye  to  accept  him  in  lieu  of  the  Gabo 
naise. 

He  was  more  determined  than  ever  that  she  should  not 
fall  into  their  hands. 

After  the  nervous  strain  of  the  past  few  hours,  dinner 
was  unusually  lively. 

The  other  white  men  drank  too  much  to  notice  Hunt 
ingdon's  absorption.  He  sat  as  one  on  whom  the  mantle 
of  death  had  fallen. 

"  Say,  Monsieur  Huntingdon,"  hiccoughed  the  Com 
mandant,  "  I  owe  you  a  million  apologies.  I  felt  sure 
you  had  hidden  la  bella  Gabonaise  and  would  attempt 
to  smuggle  her  aboard  good  Skipper  Hains'  boat.  Ah, 
what  a  ravishing  beauty  she  was  !  Mon  Dieu,  such  ardor 
as  was  hers !  We  know,  all  of  us,  LeBlanc,  Wildman, 
Gottschalk  — 'twould  be  terrible  for  the  ignorant  Our 
oungoes  to  destroy  that  Venus  in  Mahogany !  To  thee, 
la  belle  Gabonaise,  I  send  a  million  embraces !  May 
the  Ouroungoes  never  see  even  the  curve  of  thy  divine 
back ! " 

"  To  la  belle  Gabonaise,"  came  the  toast  and  the 
Commandant,  LeBlanc,  Wildman  and  Gottschalk  drank 
deep. 

Skipper  Hains  was  busy  opening  a  bottle  of  Teneriffe 
wine  but  no  one  noticed  his  failure  to  respond  to  the 
toast. 

As  for  Huntingdon,  he  was  too  miserable  to  care  what 
white  men  did.  He  was  done  with  them. 

The  dinner  seemed  endless  to  him. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  415 

After  it  was  finished,  Skipper  Hains  avoided  him. 

Huntingdon  did  not  care.  He  was  hardened  to  de 
sertion  when  he  needed  succor  most. 

Silently  he  followed  the  other  white  men  into  the  canoe 
to  go  ashore. 

Silently  he  took  leave  of  them  on  the  beach. 

He  pushed  through  the  natives  still  surrounding  his 
premises;  let  them  guard  him  until  Doomsday,  he  swore 
the  Gabonaise  would  never  fall  into  their  hands ! 

The  Nigeria  pulled  anchor,  and  steamed  away. 

Huntingdon  bade  Ngumbe  close  up  for  the  night. 

Apparently  indifferent,  Huntingdon  bellowed  loud  for 
a  drink  and  something  to  smoke. 

Yet  all  the  time  his  brain  was  in  a  tumult. 

The  Gabonaise  was  there,  in  his  storeroom. 

Would  it  be  his  life  for  hers,  or  had  he  wealth  enough 
to  buy  her  release  from  Chief  Ragundo? 

The  old  chief,  himself,  might  be  willing  to  accept 
gold,  but  would  he,  the  head  of  his  tribe,  dare  violate 
one  of  its  strictest  customs? 

Huntingdon  knew  that  Mbega's  cry  was  a  ruse  — 
the  bushboy  had  made  good  at  the  psychological  moment 
—  but  Chief  Ragundo  was  liable  to  come  any  time. 
Until  then  Huntingdon  had  a  part  to  play.  He  must 
appear  indifferent  to  the  espionage  of  the  natives.  He 
must  show  no  anxiety  to  be  alone. 

Ngumbe  must  be  allowed  to  roam  about  the  bungalow 
as  was  his  custom.  He  would  not  enter  the  storeroom. 
Ever  since  Itula  had  been  caught  thieving,  no  one  save 
Huntingdon  ever  entered  there.  It  was  always  kept 
locked.  That  it  was  open  the  night  of  the  murder  was 
because  of  the  events  preceding  it. 


416  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

So  far  then  as  immediate  discover}'  was  concerned, 
the  Gabonmse  was  safe. 

Should  Chief  Ragundo  refuse  to  accept  Huntingdon 
as  her  substitute,  or  her  weight  in  gold,  then  he,  Hunt 
ingdon,  would  murder  the  woman  with  his  own  hands  ! 

"  Ngumbe,"  he  drawled,  "  Chief  Ragundo,  he  live?  " 

"  No,  master.  Mbega  never  see  proper  for  him  eye. 
He  be  bushboy  "  —  and  great  was  Ngumbe's  contempt 
— "  him  never  see  proper." 

"  Yes,  he  be  bushboy,  proper  bushboy"  Huntingdon 
drawled. 

Ngumbe,  not  clever  in  interpreting  tones,  grunted : 

"  Aye,  it  be  true,  him  be  proper  bushboy" 

Despite  his  physical  weakness  and  the  tumult  in  his 
brain  Huntingdon  slowly  smoked  his  pipe  and  sipped 
absinthe. 

He  sauntered  to  the  doorway. 

He  stood  looking  out  into  the  night  —  he  appeared 
reluctant  to  retire,  yet  all  the  time  he  was  anxious  to 
get  to  the  Gabonaise,  and  his  limbs  could  scarce  support 
his  body. 

He  ignored  the  thumping  in  his  head,  the  sweat 
deluging  him,  the  chills  freezing  the  very  marrow;  in  his 
bones  ! 

'  Ngumbe,  you  fit  for  call  master  proper  early  when 
Chief  Ragundo  live." 

"  I  fit,  master." 

Huntingdon  waited  until  he  heard  Ngumbe  talking 
outside  with  the  watchers. 

He  heard  those  not  on  guard  separate  for  the  night. 

In  the  dark,  he  loaded  his  Winchesters  and  placed 
them  on  the  bed. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  417 

If  he  were  surprised,  he  would  kill  the  Gabonaise. 

He  tiptoed  to  the  storeroom. 

"  Ndio,"  he  whispered,  "  come,  cherie,  you  are  safe.'* 

There  was  no  response. 

He  groped  in  the  darkness. 

He  fell  over  her  body ! 

She  was  dead  of  neglect  while  those  fool  foreigners 
and  renegade  Irishman  made  merry ! 

As  hatred  for  his  fellow  man  rushed  over  him,  into 
life  spurted  all  the  love  he  had  for  the  Gabonaise. 

He  fell  on  her  breast  —  he  called  her  by  name,  he 
begged  her  to  speak  to  him. 

He  didn't  care  who  heard  him  now  —  she  was  dead  — 
dead  —  of  neglect  — 

Suddenly,  he  jumped  up  — 

Was  he  mad,  raving  with  fever  —  what  manner  of  a 
body  lay  there  — 

He  dragged  it  to  his  bedroom  — 

He  lighted  a  match  — 

He  gazed  upon  the  upturned  face  of  —  Igucla! 

He  was  nude  as  the  day  he  was  born ! 

Huntingdon  bent  over  him. 

Drugged! 

Like  a  flash  of  blinding  light  the  truth  came  home  to 
Huntingdon. 

The  wily  Irishman  had  lashed  the  imperious  Gabonaise 
through  the  very  teeth  of  her  enemies! 

Thank  God,  white  men  were  still  white! 

Huntingdon  swooned. 

Nature  could  bear  no  more. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE  canoe  sent  in  search  of  Chief  Ragundo  con 
tinuously  called  out  news  of  the  tragedy  to  passing 
canoes  and  villages.  The  whole  country  thus  became 
aroused  and  natives  flocked  to  Cape  Lopez.  Sadler  was 
on  his  way  with  cargo  and  every  ounce  of  steam  possible 
was  crowded  on  the  little  Oka  and  she  almost  flew  across 
the  bay. 

The  Ouroungoes  thronged  about  him  as  he  landed 
on  Huntingdon's  beach  early  the  next  morning,  but, 
paying  no  attention  to  them  other  than  shoving  them 
out  of  the  way,  he  hurried  into  Huntingdon's  bungalow, 
crying : 

"  It's  a  rotten  mess,  old  man.  Why  didn't  you  tele- 
gr — "  but  he  stopped,  for  there  on  the  floor  side  by  side 
lay  Huntingdon  and  the  nude  Mandigan! 

Little  Sadler  had  not  received  such  a  shock  in  many 
a  day!  At  first  he  thought  his  friend  was  dead,  but 
examination  showed  that  he  was  unconscious  and  gripped 
by  fever. 

"  Sunlight,  Mbega,  Ngumbe,  Makaya !  "  yelled  Sad 
ler,  at  the  same  time  blowing  his  whistle  furiously. 

Only  Sunlight  and  Mbega  responded.  When  the  lat 
ter  saw  the  Mandigan,  his  eyes  nearly  started  from  his 
head  with  fright  and  he  cried: 

"  Iguela,  Iguela,  he  live,  he  live,  he  never  go  for  Ni 
geria!  " 

418 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  419 

The  startling  cry  rang  out  clear  and  distinct  and 
brought  the  Ouroungoes  crowding  into  the  bungalow. 

Sadler,  knowing  nothing  save  that  Chief  Ragundo's 
granddaughter  had  been  murdered  by  the  Gabonaise, 
turned  on  the  savages,  and,  standing  between  the  bodies 
of  the  white  man  and  the  Mandigan,  revolver  in  hand,  he 
raged : 

"  How  dare  you  enter  King  Huntingdon's  house !  Get 
out,  every  one  of  you,  or  I'll  pump  you  full  of  lead !  " 

The  savages  recoiled  before  the  threat  but  did  not 
retreat.  Then  forward  stepped  one  of  the  brothers  of 
Chief  Ragundo  and  quietly,  but  firmly,  he  spoke: 

"  Master  Sadler,  them  Gabonaise  live  for  murder 
granddaughter  of  my  brudder,  Ragundo.  It  be  proper 
native  law  that  them  Gabonaise  be  dashed  to  us  and  when 
my  brudder,  Chief  Ragundo,  live  for  Cape  Lopez  them 
Gabonaise  shall  suffer  the  mboundu!  " 

"  What  the  hell  do  I  care  what  you  do  with  the  nigger 
wench,  but  you'll  get  out  of  here.  King  Huntingdon 
live  for  sick,  mpolo,  mpolo,  perhaps  he  live  for  ground 
ketch  soon  and  I  want  to  give  him  medceen  one 
time !  " 

The  Mandigan  was  slowly  recovering  from  his  stupor. 
As  he  essayed  to  sit  up,  upon  him  jumped  an  Ouroungo 
demanding  in  Ouroungo : 

"  Them  Gabonaise,  where  he  live  !  " 

The  Mandigan,  neither  understanding  the  Ouroungo 
tongue  nor  remembering  how  he  came  to  be  there  on 
the  floor  without  his  clothing,  knew  only  that  he  was 
being  attacked.  He  grappled  with  the  Ouroungo  and 
one  or  the  other  of  them  would  have  been  choked  to 
death,  had  not  little  Sadler  commanded  Ragundo's 


420  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

brother  to  separate  them  and  tell  him  the  cause  of  the 
palaver  and  he  would  render  judgment. 

The  men  were  separated  and  with  the  unconscious 
Huntingdon  on  the  floor  and  the  Mandigan  cowering 
behind  Sadler  for  protection,  Sadler  listened  to  the  events 
of  which  he  was  not  aware. 

"  Me,  I  be  Mboomba,  proper  brudder  to  Ragundo 
Vandji,  chief  of  the  Ouroungoes  — 

"  I  know  your  pedigree,"  Sadler  cut  in.  "  I've  no 
time  now  for  mpolo  palaver!  Negesa!  and  tell  me  for 
why  you  make  murder  palaver  on  Iguela?  " 

Mboomba,  paying  no  heed  to  Sadler's  command,  at 
tempted  to  continue  in  the  usual,  roundabout  way  of 
the  savage,  but  Sadler  cut  him  short  and  demanded  of 
Mbega,  if  he  knew  the  cause  of  the  palaver. 

"  I  savvy,  master,"  answered  the  boy  promptly. 

"  Negesa,  then,  out  with  it !  " 

"  Them  Gdbonmse  live  for  murder  them  granddaugh 
ter  of  Chief  Ragundo  — " 

"  For  Christ's  sake  I  savvy  that,"  cried  the  nettled 
white  man,  eager  to  be  rid  of  the  negroes  so  that  he  might 
give  attention  to  Huntingdon,  but  at  the  same  time  fully 
aware  that  it  would  precipitate  bloodshed  did  he  not 
at  once  do  away  with  the  palaver  between  the  Ouroungoes 
and  the  Mandigan.  "  What  them  Mandigan  do,  Mbega, 
that's  what  I  must  savvy?  " 

"  He  never  go  for  Nigeria,,  yet  me  and  all  them  Our 
oungoes  look  him  go  with  ivories  for  him  head  —  Mas 
ter  Hains  drive  him  so  for  beach  —  he  put  him  so  for 
surf  boat  —  me  I  look  him  so  —  all  them  Ouroungoes 
look  him  so  —  them  surf  boat  he  make  for  the  Nigeria 
one  time,  me,  Mbega,  and  Ogula,  the  shootman,  and 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  421 

Nkombi  Kakhi,  him  brudder,  and  all  them  Ouroungoes 
look  him  — " 

"Who?" 

"  Iguela,  the  Mandigan." 

"  What's  wrong  with  Iguela  carrying  ivories  for  Ni 
geria?  He  be  proper  cabinboy  for  Skipper  Hains." 

"  It  be  true,  Master  Sadler,  and  Mbega  no  savvy  how 
them  Mandigan  live  for  Nigeria,  them  Nigeria  steam 
'way  one  time  and  them  Mandigan  now  live  for  here !  " 

Light  was  breaking  on  the  white  man. 

"  Them  Gabonaise  after  him  murder  them  Ouroungo, 
where  him  live?  " 

"  Master  Huntingdon  say  him  gone  for  bush ;  Com 
mandant  him  send  Malgash  for  tek  them  Gabonaise; 
them  Gabonaise  no  live  for  him  house  for  back,  me, 
Mbega,  and  Ogula,  the  shootman,  and  Nkombi  Kakhi, 
him  brudder,  and  all  them  Ouroungoes  never  look  him 
no  more,  he  no  live !  " 

"Where's  Makaya?  " 

"  After  him  give  chicotte  for  Gabonaise,  he  no  live." 

"  Makaya  give  chicotte  for  Gabonaise!  "  and  Sadler 
was  genuinely  astonished  that  anyone  should  lay  violent 
hands  on  the  precious  Ndio.  "  For  why  Makaya  he 
make  so?  " 

"  Gabonaise  be  him  woman  !  " 

Sadler  drew  in  his  breath  and  thought  a  moment  — 
more  light  was  dawning  upon  him. 

Along  with  the  other  white  men,  he  never  trusted  the 
Gabonaise.  He  knew  she  would  betray  Huntingdon 
some  day ;  that  day  had  come ;  Makaya  was  the  man ; 
Huntingdon!  had  had  him  flog  the  Gabonaise  —  but 
where  did  the  Ouroungo  woman  come  in? 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

"  After  Makaya  flog  them  Gabonaise,  King  Hunting 
don  what  him  live  for  do?  "  Sadler  next  demanded  of 
Mbega. 

"  Him  blow  for  Ngumbe ;  Ngumbe  him  brought  them 
Ouroungo  for  King  Huntingdon's  woman ;  next  day 
sunup  them  Ouroungo  live  for  die,  them  Gabonaise  put 
him  twist  for  him  throat !  " 

So  the  Gabonaise  in  jealous  rage  had  killed  the  Our 
oungo! 

"  And  them  Mandigan,  what  him  live  for  do,  Mbega?  " 

"I  no  savvy  —  he  live  for  Nigeria,  he  no  live  for 
Nigeria  —  Nigeria  live  for  go,  Mandigan  he  live  here." 

Sadler  waived  Mbega  aside,  then  called  the  Mandigan. 
But  Iguela  feared  to  come  forth. 

"Never  fear,  Iguela,"  said  Sadler,  kindly.  "Tell 
master  true  palaver,  Ouroungoes  never  touch  your  skin, 
master  shall  keep  you  safe." 

Encouraged  and  from  where  he  stood  the  Mandigan 
spoke : 

"  Master  Sadler,  Iguela  come  for  get  them  ivories  for 
Master  Hains,  Iguela  go  for  storeroom  —  Iguela  be 
sick  for  him  head,  he  stagger  for  floor  —  it  be  all  dark 
—  someone  he  ketch  Iguela  for  neck  —  Iguela  never 
look  him  —  Iguela  never  savvy  nothing  'till  just 
now  — " 

"  That'll  do,  Iguela,  Master  Sadler  savvy  all  them 
palaver  proper  now,"  and  addressing  Mboomba,  he  said : 
'  Them  Gabonaise  be  bad  woman,  mpolo,  mpolo;  him 
live  for  murder  them  Ouroungo;  him  jealous  because 
King  Huntingdon  take  them  Ouroungo  for  him  woman ; 
him  put  him  twist  for  throat  of  them  Ouroungo  woman ; 
them  Ouroungo  woman  him  live  for  die  one  time;  them 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  423 

Gabonaise  savvy  law  of  the  Ouroungoes;  him  savvy  him 
must  drink  the  mboundu  for  killing  them  Ouroungo;  him 
steal  for  storeroom  of  King  Huntingdon ;  King  Hunt 
ingdon  when  him  say  he  never  look  Gabonaise  for  him 
house  him  speak  truth  palaver  for  him  mouth,  for  them 
Gabonaise  mek  ju-ju  palaver  so  them  white  man's  eyes 
no  fit  look  him  and  him  mouth  no  fit  tell  Ouroungoes  that 
them  women  live  for  him  house ;  then,  when  Iguela,  them 
Mandigan,  go  for  storeroom  for  tek  them  ivories  for 
Nigeria,  them  Gabonaise  mek  him  all  same  for  him  neck 
like  them  Ouroungo  —  them  Mandigan  fall  for  floor ; 
them  Gabonaise  thief  them  clothes  of  them  Mandigan 
and  him  ju-ju  Captain  Hains  and  King  Huntingdon 
and  them  Commandant  and  all  them  peoples  that  him 
be  proper  Mandigan  and  him  go  for  Nigeria  and  him 
sail  'way  and  him  now  live  for  Libreville  with  him  pee- 
ples !  " 

A  nervous  silence  followed  Sadler's  declaration,  the 
silence  engendered  by  superstitious  fear.  Sadler,  wise 
in  the  ways  of  the  savages,  knew  there  was  but  one  way  to 
exonerate  Huntingdon  and  Hains  and  that  was  to  play 
upon  the  superstition  of  the  savages  and  lay  the  escape 
of  the  Gabonaise  to  ju-ju  —  to  her  power  to  assume  the 
guise  and  manner  of  the  Mandigan.  Many  a  tale  had 
the  savages  told  Sadler  of  their  kings  and  chiefs  assum 
ing  the  form  of  a  beast  or  a  bird  or  of  an  enemy  and 
stealing  among  the  enemy  to  find  out  what  they  were 
doing.  To  appear  to  be  the  Mandigan  was  therefore 
—  in  the  savage  opinion  —  not  impossible  to  the  Gabo 
naise;  the  Ouroungoes  firmly  believed  that  she  really 
ju-ju'd  the  white  men  and  themselves  and  had  escaped 
as  Sadler  explained. 


424  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

For  the  time  being  the  escape  of  the  Gabonaise  was 
eclipsed  by  her  manner  of  effecting  it.  The  Mandigan 
had  nothing  to  fear,  he  was  but  a  tool  in  the  hands  of 
the  powerful  and  cunning  Gabonaise. 

But  Sadler  had  not  yet  said  all  he  wished  to  say,  and, 
midst  the  continued  silence,  he  went  on : 

"  And  them  Great  White  King  when  him  look  them 
Mandigan  for  him  floor,  him  savvy  them  Gabonaise 
make  ju-ju  palaver,  and  fear  ketch  him  and  he  fall  for 
floor  and  now  fever  ketch  him  skin  and  he  be  proper 
sick,  proper  sick  —  and  now  Master  Sadler  fit  put  him 
for  bed  and  when  him  eye  he  open  the  Great  White  King 
fit  for  say  for  him  mouth  truth  palaver  all  same  like 
Master  Sadler  just  finish  tell  you;  and  he  fit  dash  all 
Ouroungoes  tacco  and  rum,  and  when  Chief  Ragundo 
come  the  Great  White  King  he  send  for  Libreville  and 
he  ketch  them  Gabonaise  and  he  dash  them  woman  to 
Chief  Ragundo !  " 

"  Aye,"  grunted  the  savages  satisfied,  and  they  left 
the  bungalow  to  wait  on  the  beach  for  the  coming  of 
their  chief. 

With  the  aid  of  the  Mandigan,  Sunlight,  Mbega, 
Nkombi  Kakhi,  and  Ogula,  the  shootman,  Huntingdon 
was  placed  in  his  bed. 

Inquiry  was  then  made  for  Ngumbe,  but  he  was  miss 
ing.  Sadler  opined  that  Ngumbe  had  found  his  master 
early  in  the  morning,  and,  thinking  he  was  dead,  had 
stolen  as  much  of  his  clothing  as  he  could  carry,  and 
had  run  away  to  the  bush. 

Sadler  piled  Huntingdon  with  bed  covering,  and,  put 
ting  hot  stones  about  him  to  induce  warmth,  sat  by  his 
side,  awaiting  the  coming  of  consciousness.  He  was 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  425 

alone,  and,  when  hour  after  hour  passed,  and  Hunting 
don  showed  no  signs  of  returning  life,  little  Sadler 
involuntarily  dropped  on  his  knees,  and  for  the  first 
time  since  he  was  a  lad  of  fourteen  he  begged  a  favor 
of  God :  he  begged  for  the  life  of  his  friend ! 

Then,  looking  shamefacedly  about  him,  he  made  sure 
that  no  one  witnessed  his  prayer.  Had  a  native  been 
present,  he  would  assuredly  have  murdered  him ! 

Huntingdon's  condition  greatly  alarmed  the  little 
skipper.  He  had  seen  much  sickness  in  his  time  and 
he  knew  a  grave  case  at  sight.  A  nurse  was  needed  — 
a  civilized  woman  would  be  a  God-send.  But,  alas,  none 
was  at  hand.  Still  there  were  savage  women.  They  at 
least  knew  how  to  treat  fever,  how  to  induce  warmth  and 
perspiration.  Unless  perspiration  showed  and  showed 
quickly,  Huntingdon  was  lost.  Thought  of  Moore's 
woman  came  to  Sadler.  She  knew  white  men's  ways ;  he 
would  go  for  her  himself.  He  leaped  down  the  veranda 
steps,  just  as  a  canoe  landed  on  the  beach  and  out  of 
it  stepped  Madame  Leon,  the  missionary ! 

He  recalled  then  that  he  had  passed  her  on  The 
Eclaireur  on  the  Ogowe.  She  was  en  route  to  Cape 
Lopez  to  take  the  French  steamer  next  day  to  Europe. 
Her  husband  had  been  dead  over  a  year  but  she  had 
remained  at  the  mission  until  her  husband's  successor 
and  his  wife  came,  and,  after  showing  them  everything 
about  the  work  of  the  mission,  she  was  returning  to 
Switzerland  for  an  indefinite  sojourn. 

Sadler  was  overjoyed  to  see  her,  and,  telling  her  of 
Huntingdon's  danger,  he  led  her  into  Huntingdon's 
chamber. 

One    glance    of   the    woman's    experienced    eyes    was 


426  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

enough.     Her   duty   was   there,   to   save   the   life    of   a 
fellow  creature. 

"  Mr.  Sadler,  will  you  please  have  all  my  luggage 
brought  here?  I  shall  not  sail  for  Europe  to-morrow." 

Although  older  and  thinner  and  paler,  Sadler  was 
still  the  boy.  At  the  unexpected  announcement  and 
succor,  he  impulsively  bent  over  and  kissed  Madame  full 
on  the  mouth. 

No  blush  overspread  Madame's  spirltuclle  face;  she 
thoroughly  understood  the  little  skipper,  and,  putting 
her  hands  confidingly  in  his,  she  gently  pressed  them 
and  looking  steadily  into  his  blue  eyes,  she  said  in  a  low 
voice : 

"  If  it  be  God's  will,  you  and  I  will  nurse  Mr.  Hunt 
ingdon  back  to  life  and  health." 

With  two  such  friends  at  his  bedside  and  with  Mbega, 
the  watchdog,  in  the  factory,  and  Ogula,  the  shootman, 
and  Nkombi  Kakhi,  his  brother,  on  guard  without,  Hunt 
ingdon  was  indeed  blessed ! 

At  sundown  Moore's  gig  sailed  across  the  bay  before 
a  stiff  breeze.  The  news  of  the  tragedy  had  caused  him 
to  leave  unfinished  his  work  in  the  bush,  and  set  out  at 
once  to  see  what  help  he  could  render  Huntingdon.  He 
recognized  the  latter's  peril  from  the  Ouroungoes.  In 
their  rage  they  might  kill  the  white  man  because  of  the 
escape  of  the  Gabonaise! 

When  Moore  found  Sadler  and  Madame  Leon  at 
Huntingdon's  bedside,  jealousy  flared  up  within  him, 
but  when  he  heard  all  the  facts  from  little  Sadler, 
and  recognized  in  what  extreme  danger  Huntingdon  was, 
Moore's  better  nature  came  forth,  and  he,  too,  offered 
his  services. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  427 

"  You  can  do  nothing  here,  old  man,"  said  Sadler 
gratefully,  "  but  you  can  do  something  for  me  —  if  you 
will?" 

"  Name  it,"  cried  Moore,  the  old  bluster  in  his  voice, 
but  eagerness  and  good-fellowship  in  his  manner. 

"  Huntingdon  and  I,  dear  old  chap,  have  been  pretty 
close  to  each  other  - —  I  want  to  be  on  hand,  if  the  worst 
comes  —  I  want  to  lay  him  away  properly  —  to  send 
a  cable  home  —  to  see  that  the  niggers  don't  rob  him  — 
but,  if  there's  a  fighting  chance  for  his  life,  and  we'll 
soon  know  whether  there  is  or  not,  I  want  to  be  on  hand 
to  help  him  make  it  —  I  can't  stay  away  from  Larnbar- 
ene,  there's  too  much  business  to  be  looked  after,  could 
you  — " 

"  Sure  I  can  go,"  Moore  interrupted,  "  if  you'll  keep 
an  eye  on  my  place  here." 

"  You  bet  I  will,  old  man." 

"  Then  I'll  cross  Yombe  flats  on  the  early  morning 
tide  with  the  Oka.  But  you'll  keep  me  informed  of  how 
things're  going?  " 

"  Never  fear,  pard,  you  shall  have  a  wire  every  day ; 
two,  three,  four  of  them,  if  necessary." 

With  his  old,  careless  swagger  Moore  set  out  for  his 
own  bungalow.  Little  Sadler  looked  after  him  with 
tears  in  his  eyes,  and  murmured,  "  Scratch  an  English 
man  deep  enough,  and  you'll  find  his  heart." 

Madame  Leon  spent  hours  on  her  knees  praying 
fervently  that  consciousness  might  return  to  Hunting 
don.  Sadler  nervously  paced  back  and  forth  on  the 
veranda.  While  Huntingdon's  condition  distressed  him 
infinitely  and  he  despaired  of  his  life,  he  feared  that 
Madame's  constant  kneeling  and  concentration  in  prayer 


428  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

might  render  her  ill  and  he  would  have  two  invalids  on 
his  hands. 

In  that  moment  he  longed  for  the  close  companionship 
of  a  white  woman ;  he  fully  appreciated  for  the  first 
time  what  exile  in  Africa  meant ;  what  a  void  was  in  his 
life;  what  an  incomplete  creature  a  man  is  who  is  not 
mated  to  a  woman  of  his  own  kind.  Love  for  the  gentle, 
self-sacrificing  missionary  woman  came  to  him ;  he  re 
solved  to  cast  away  forever  his  old  life  and  to  ask  her 
to  share  his  future.  The  decision  could  not  have  come 
to  Sadler  under  normal  conditions ;  for  it  meant  a  re 
versal  of  his  whole  life ;  the  giving  up  of  the  absolute 
freedom  in  which  he  had  theretofore  reveled,  the  ac 
ceptance  of  service;  the  desertion  of  trade  and  the  join 
ing  of  Madame  Leon  in  her  work  of  the  attempted 
salvation  of  the  savage.  That  work  was  Madame's 
whole  life  and  he  would  not  ask  her  to  relinquish  it ;  she 
would  teach  him  what  to  do  and  he  would  relieve  her  of 
the  most  arduous  part  of  it.  Sadler  fully  appreciated 
the  derision  he  would  have  to  bear  from  his  friends  but 
to  be  prayed  for  by  a  woman,  to  be  so  tenderly  nursed,  to 
be  a  matter  of  concern  to  her,  to  have  her  companionship, 
sympathy  and  love,  were  worth  the  sacrifice  of  habits 
no  matter  of  what  age  or  worth  or  enjoyment! 

He  went  into  the  room,  intending  to  raise  her  from 
her  knees  and  beg  her  to  seek  rest  and  leave  the  vigil  to 
him,  when  suddenly  from  Huntingdon's  lips  there  rushed 
a  flow  of  incoherent  sentences.  Silence  and  inertia  were 
broken ;  delirium  and  restlessness  had  come.  Gradually 
Huntingdon's  speech  became  clear.  He  babbled  of  his 
life  at  home;  his  love  for  Marjorie;  his  pleading  for 
his  mother's  consent  to  permit  him  to  go  to  Africa  to 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  429 

engage  in  trade  to  make  money  for  Marjorie's  sake; 
over  and  over  again  he  cried  out  his  oath  of  fidelity  and 
her  pledge  given  in  return.  He  lived  again  the  long 
days  and  nights  of  loneliness ;  he  spoke  of  the  coming 
of  the  missionaries;  the  delight  he  experienced  in 
Madame  Leon's  society ;  the  regret  and  rage  that  fol 
lowed  the  forced  abandonment  of  further  visits  to  the 
Rest  House. 

Delirium  cried  aloud  all  the  suffering  sanity  had  con 
cealed.  Again  and  again  he  repeated  the  litany  that 
had  supported  him  when  endurance  was  all  but  gone ; 
then  he  spoke  of  his  illness  and  the  coming  of  the 
Gabonaise;  he  screamed  at  the  top  of  his  lungs  that  she 
was  naught  but  his  nurse  and  whoso  said  she  was  closer 
to  him,  lied  damnably ;  he  was  waiting  for  the  mail,  for 
Marjorie's  letter;  she  would  name  their  wedding  day 
and  his  purgatory  would  end.  Word  for  word  and  over 
and  over  again,  he  repeated  Marjorie's  letter;  he 
laughed  like  a  maniac  and  demanded  if  he  were  not 
right  in  disdaining  a  defense;  he  arraigned  Marjorie  se 
verely  for  her  doubt  of  him,  then  he  pleaded  for  death 
and  release!  Then  came  his  life  with  the  Gabonaise;  she 
brought  him  oblivion,  she  blotted  out  civilization  and  its 
cruelties ;  she  brought  him  surcease  from  past  tortures 
only  to  inflict  deeper  ones  upon  him ! 

His  ravings  were  not  consecutive  but  they  were  com 
plete  and  they  brought  torture  almost  beyond  endurance 
to  Madame  Leon  and  little  Sadler. 

Was  there  no  way  to  bring  relief  to  a  human  creature 
helpless  in  body  and  acutely  active  in  mind !  Oh,  how 
Madame  Leon  longed  for  ice  for  the  hot,  throbbing 
head;  for  cooling  drink  for  the  parched  throat!  She 


430  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

wished  she  had  never  come  to  Africa;  that  she  had 
never  met  Huntingdon,  such  acute  agony  did  his  suf 
fering  and  helplessness  bring  to  her.  Much  native 
suffering  had  she  relieved  and,  although  sympathy  for 
the  sufferer  was  always  alive  within  her,  yet  it  never 
gripped  her  so  vitally  as  did  the  suffering  of  this  white 
man.  There  was  a  difference,  a  great  difference.  The 
savage  was  after  all  an  alien  while  the  white  man  was  of 
her  race,  the  tie  of  complexion  bound  them  and  it  was  a 
strong  one. 

Madame  Leon  could  pray  no  more.  She  looked  on 
helpless  and  became  active  again  only  when  Ogula,  the 
shootman,  held  to  Huntingdon's  lips  a  steaming  draught 
redolent  of  lemon.  She  knew  what  it  was:  a  tea  made 
from  the  leaves  of  the  lime  tree.  She  took  the  tin  from 
Ogula,  and,  while  Sadler  held  the  sufferer's  head,  she 
slowly  fed  the  liquid  to  him. 

She  had  her  water  bottles  filled  with  water  as  hot  as 
they  could  bear;  she  placed  them  along  Huntingdon's 
spine  and  at  his  feet;  she  had  her  own  blankets  tucked 
tightly  about  him,  and  compresses,  wrung  from  the  only 
cold  water  at  hand,  that  from  the  sea,  were  constantly 
applied  to  the  base  of  his  brain  and  about  his  head. 

The  delirium  gradually  passed,  deep  sleep  and  regu 
lar  breathing  came  and  perspiration  deluged  the  sufferer. 
The  crisis  had  passed  !  Madame  Leon  could  again  pray 
and  thank  the  Giver  of  Life  for  His  mercies  and  bless 
Him  therefor. 

When  consciousness  was  slowly  fighting  for  life  and 
impressions  were  returning  to  Huntingdon,  the  face  of 
the  white  woman  bending  over  him  was  but  one  of  the 
many  ghosts  that  trooped  through  his  disordered  brain. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  431 

Gradually,  she  became  a  reality ;  he  knew  not  whom  she 
was  or  whence  she  came ;  he  knew  only  that  she  was  a 
white  woman.  Pleasure  and  gratitude  lived  a  moment 
in  his  eyes,  then  were  gone ;  he  was  too  weak  for  further 
emotion  or  expression. 

As  he  grew  stronger  he  studied  her  intently  as  though 
he  had  never  seen  a  white  woman ;  it  was  but  nature's 
way  of  winning  him  back  to  his  own  race;  then  full 
remembrance  came  to  him.  He  knew  who  she  was ;  he 
felt  her  sweet  personality ;  he  remembered  the  impression 
she  had  made  upon  him  at  their  first  meeting,  oh,  so 
long  ago ;  he  recalled  his  visits  to  the  Rest  House,  then 
he  flushed  with  shame  as  thoughts  of  the  Gabonaise 
followed. 

The  danger  passed,  Sadler  set  out  for  Lambarene  and 
Moore  came  back  to  Cape  Lopez.  At  night  he  insisted 
upon  nursing  Huntingdon  while  Madame  Leon  sought 
a  separate  room  and  rest.  She  was  thoroughly  ex 
hausted  and  ill.  But  she  said  naught,  and  Moore  was 
too  much  concerned  about  Huntingdon  to  take  note  of 
Madame,  other  than  his  insistence  that  she  rest  during 
the  night  and  let  him  take  her  place.  Moore  also  took 
complete  charge  of  Huntingdon's  house  and  resided 
there.  He  installed  his  own  cook  in  the  galley ;  he  had 
the  cook  teach  Iguela  the  proper  duties  of  a  houseboy. 
He  looked  in  often  at  the  factory,  but  he  knew  Mbega 
was  faithful  and  competent.  Nkombi  Kakhi  and  Ogula 
took  turns  night  and  day  on  the  front  veranda  keeping 
all  disturbance  from  the  sick  man. 

It  was  to  his  friends'  unceasing  care  and  vigilance  that 
Huntingdon  owed  his  life. 

He  was  removed  to  the  veranda.     The  sea  sobbed  and 


432  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

moaned  as  of  old,  and  the  giant  cocoanut-trees  sighed 
incessantly,  but  Huntingdon  heard  only  the  sweet,  low 
voice  of  the  woman  who  nursed  him,  he  was  interested 
only  in  her. 

She  was  tall,  slim  and  graceful.  In  her  simple  gown 
of  cool,  fresh,  white  linen,  with  her  soft,  wavy  brown 
hair  combed  from  her  square  forehead  into  a  knot  at 
the  base  of  her  neck,  her  face  and  brow  free  of  lines, 
and  in  her  eyes  human  sympathy  and  understanding,  she 
was  wonderfully  magnetic  and  attractive.  She  was  not 
beautiful  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  and  she  was  so 
spirituelle  as  to  suggest  frailty,  but  she  was  tremen 
dously  womanly,  and  her  frailty  masked  strength  and 
endurance.  Save  her  continued  pallor  and  a  deeper 
expression  in  her  beautiful  brown  eyes,  she  appeared 
no  older  than  when  Huntingdon  first  saw  her.  And 
she  had  suffered  much  during  that  period:  she  had 
gone  to  Europe  where  her  child  was  born  and  died  after 
six  short  weeks  of  life !  After  two  years  she  had  re 
turned  to  the  mission  at  Lambarene  and  found  things 
sadly  neglected  in  her  absence ;  then  came  her  husband's 
lingering  illness  and  death,  and  her  continuance  alone  in 
her  chosen  work  until  such  time  as  relief  came. 

Huntingdon  fancied  what  she  would  look  like  in 
Europe  where  temperate  breezes  blow  and  where  the  sun 
nourishes  instead  of  kills.  With  this  thought  in  mind 
he  abruptly  asked: 

"  Madame  Leon,  you  must  be  pining  for  civilization, 
are  you  not?  " 

Madame  Leon  smiled  and  playfully  rebuked :  "  My 
patient  is  so  well  now  that  he  wishes  to  be  rid  of  his 
nurse." 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  433 

"  No,  no,  no !  "  Huntingdon  hastily  protested,  then 
he  added  helplessly :  "  Why,  what  would  I  do  were  you 
to  go?  "  and  loneliness  and  emptiness  gripped  him. 

"  You  have  your  work,  Monsieur  Huntingdon ;  it  is 
only  through  work  that  we  find  happiness  and  content 
ment." 

"  Tell  me,  Clothilde,"  and  Huntingdon,  unconscious 
of  the  use  of  her  first  name,  demanded :  "  are  you 
happy,  have  you  ever  been  happy?  " 

When  human  creatures  are  far  removed  from  the  land 
of  their  birth,  when  they  are  distant  from  their  own  kind, 
when  they  have  suffered  and  endured  and  striven  against 
almost  hopeless  odds,  the  pretenses  of  civilization  vanish 
never  again  to  return  and  exiles  are  absolutely  nat 
ural. 

Thus  no  thought  of  evasion  came  to  Madame  Leon, 
nor  did  she  resent  Huntingdon's  question.  She  an 
swered  simply  and  directly : 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  happy." 

"When?" 

"  Now  —  I'm  happy,  wonderfully  so,  because  I've 
brought  you  back  to  life ;  God  has  answered  my  prayers, 
you  will  live." 

At  which  words  Huntingdon  knew  he  loved  this 
woman ;  that  love  for  her  first  came  into  being  long,  long 
ago  at  the  Rest  House;  he  knew  now  why  he  had  so  ve 
hemently  resented  the  slander  against  her  and  the  loss 
of  her  companionship;  why  he  had  acted  so  as  to  make 
her  believe  he  was  thoroughly  bad  and  heartless ;  why  he 
grew  well ;  he  wanted  to  live ;  to  be  with  her  always ! 

"  Clothilde,  I  love  you,"  he  said  simply,  then  gently 
asked:  "Do  you  love  me?" 


434  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

"  I  love  you,  Cecil,  very,  very  much,"  Madame  Leon 
answered  promptly. 

Huntingdon  did  not  offer  to  touch  her,  but  for  a  long 
time  he  gazed  steadily  into  her  eyes,  while  in  thought 
his  unworthy  life  passed  in  review ! 

No  rancor  remained  against  Marjorie  and  the  Gabo- 
naise,  what  was  done  was  done,  but  o'er  Huntingdon 
swept  the  anguish  that  he  was  not  good  enough  for  the 
gentle  woman  who  continued  to  gaze  so  trustfully  into 
his  eyes  —  he  turned  away ;  he  closed  his  eyes  that  she 
might  not  see  the  misery  within  them,  but  love  is  intuitive 
and  the  woman  spoke : 

"  The  past  is  dead,  my  beloved ;  we  grow  through  our 
sins ;  suffering  is  cleansing  and  purifying  —  we  have 
both  suffered,  and  we  are  both  better  and  stronger 
for  it." 

Huntingdon  folded  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her. 
There  was  no  passion  in  his  caress ;  it  was  sweet  with 
reverential  love. 

"  And  when  shall  we  be  married,  Clothilde,  cherie?  " 

"  When  you  will." 

"  And  where?  " 

"  At  the  mission  at  Lambarene." 

"  All  right  —  then  here's  our  plans :  in  seven  weeks 
the  Nigeria  and  Captain  Hains  are  due ;  we'll  go  back  to 
Europe  with  him.  In  the  meantime,  you  and  I  will  go  to 
Lambarene  and  be  married;  Mr.  Sadler  and  Mr.  Moore 
shall  be  best  men  —  and  the  wife  of  the  missionary  shall 
be  Matron  of  Honor  — " 

"  But  are  you  strong  enough,  Cecil,  dear?  " 

"  I  feel  as  though  I  never  had  an  illness  in  my  life  - 
thanks  to  you  — " 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  435 

"  But  you  are  still  weak,  you  can't  deny  that ;  I  know 
you  are  weak." 

"  Yes,  I'm  still  weak,  but  love  and  happiness  are  the 
greatest  panacea  in  the  whole  world  and  I  shall  soon  be 
well  again." 

•And  he  prognosticated  truly.  The  cold,  dry  season 
was  again  on,  green  vegetables  were  again  plentiful, 
Madame  Leon  herself  prepared  the  appetising  dishes  set 
three  times  daily  on  the  table,  and  with  her  and  Moore 
as  companions  Huntingdon  was  renewed  both  in  mind 
and  body  and  his  illness  seemed  to  have  blotted  out  his 
past  life  and  his  sufferings.  He  lived  only  for  his  mar 
riage  and  his  return  to  Europe. 

He  set  about  closing  up  his  affairs.  He  sent  for 
Chief  Ragundo,  to  whom  he  made  ample  monetary  pay 
ment  for  the  untimely  loss  of  his  granddaughter.  But 
so  little  sentiment  was  shown  by  the  old  chief,  that  Hunt 
ingdon  might  just  as  well  have  been  paying  for  rubber 
or  black  wood. 

Huntingdon  looked  about  for  a  trustworthy  man  to 
take  charge  of  his  factories.  He  intended  to  return  to 
Africa  every  two  years  to  see  that  all  was  going  well 
with  his  enterprise.  Perhaps  he  would  not  return  at  all 
—  if  he  could  find  the  right  man  to  take  his  place.  But 
telegrams  throughout  the  bush  and  cables  north  and 
south  along  the  coast  brought  no  competent  man. 

Huntingdon  wrote  to  Sadler  of  his  betrothal  to 
Madame  Leon  and  begged  the  little  skipper  to  act  as 
best  man  along  with  Moore. 

Keen  was  the  blow  to  Sadler.  Ever  since  his  determi 
nation  to  ask  Madame  Leon  to  be  his  wife,  he  had  lived 
as  she  would  have  wished  him  to  live,  he  had  also  cabled 


436  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

John  Holt  giving  up  his  berth  and  asking  that  his  relief 
be  sent  out  at  once.  But  so  deeply  did  Sadler  love  Hunt 
ingdon  that  he  rejoiced  that  Huntingdon  had  won  Ma 
dame;  he  would  be  a  more  fitting  husband  for  her;  he 
could  provide  the  comforts  she  needed  and  the  station 
in  life  to  which  her  sweetness,  refinement  and  education 
had  fitted  her.  He  knew  Huntingdon  would  take  her 
from  her  missionary  work ;  he  was  glad  because  he  fully 
appreciated  that  Africa  is  no  place  for  a  white  woman 
and  that  her  life  and  health  are  needlessly  sacrificed 
there.  A  white  woman's  place  is  in  civilization  where 
she  is  needed ;  where  her  work  and  sacrifices  are  appre 
ciated  and  result  in  lasting  good.  Africa  is  savage  and 
will  ever  remain  so. 

Infinite  weariness  and  loneliness  descended  upon  Sad 
ler  after  Madame  Leon  as  his  future  wife  did  not  occupy 
his  thoughts,  but  he  immediately  wired  his  congratula 
tions  to  Huntingdon  and  his  best  wishes  to  Madame,  tell 
ing  her  what  a  good  sort  Huntingdon  was ;  that  he  was 
the  only  man  on  earth  worthy  of  her.  He  ended  his 
telegram  with  the  words :  "  I'm  jealous."  He  knew  she 
would  consider  it  his  continued  playfulness,  yet  it  gave 
him  the  satisfaction  of  having  expressed  the  first  thought 
which  had  come  to  him  on  receipt  of  Huntingdon's 
letter.  But  not  a  trace  of  j  ealousy  was  left  in  the  little 
skipper's  heart.  Madame  would  be  the  wife  of  the  first 
human  being  Sadler  ever  loved ;  now  he  loved  two  per 
sons  and  their  happiness  was  his  happiness,  their  joys 
his  joys. 

He  came  again  to  Cape  Lopez  with  cargo.  He  mar 
veled  at  the  change  both  in  Huntingdon  and  Madame. 
They  did  not  look  like  the  same  creatures ;  even  Moore 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  437 

was  changed.  Sadler  was  also  changed  for  the  better. 
But  we  never  see  ourselves  as  others  see  us,  and  the  first 
dinner  (the  friends  had  together  was  a  mutual  expression 
of  joy  for  the  improved  health  and  appearance  of  the 
other. 

Huntingdon  expressed  his  regret  to  Sadler  of  not 
being  able  to  find  anyone  to  take  his  place  while  he  was 
in  Europe. 

"  How  would  I  do?  "  laughed  the  little  skipper. 

"  Do !  you'd  be  the  very  man,  but  how  about 
Holt?  " 

"  Oh,  I  resigned  long  ago." 

"Honest?" 

"  Yes." 

"When?" 

"  My  resignation  went  to  Europe  immediately  after 
you  were  taken  ill  —  perhaps  my  relief  will  be  on  the 
Nigeria." 

"  And  why  did  you  resign,  Sadler,  my  boy,  may  your 
old  friend  ask?  " 

"  Perhaps  because  I  was  selfish  and  wanted  a  better 
job,"  answered  Sadler  roguishly,  keeping  his  secret. 

"  I  really  don't  deserve  all  this  luck,  old  chap,"  Hunt 
ingdon  confessed.  But  Sadler  interrupted: 

"  Whoso  has  a  better  right  to  inherit  all  the  good 
things  of  life  than  Huntingdon,  the  Great  White  King. 
Is  it  not  so,  Madame  Leon?  " 

Madame's  answer  was  a  smile  more  expressive  than 
any  words  she  might  have  employed. 

Cecil  Huntingdon  and  Clothflde  Leon  were  quietly 
married  at  Lambarene,  in  the  presence  of  the  missionary 
and  his  wife,  and  Sadler  and  Moore.  The  ceremony  was 


438  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

at  high  noon  and  a  simple  wedding  breakfast  followed. 
There  were  no  wedding  gifts. 

Huntingdon  and  his  bride  returned  to  Cape  Lopez  on 
the  Avante-Garde  and  Sadler  and  Moore  on  the  Oka. 

When  the  Nigeria  dropped  anchor,  Moore  and  Sadler 
were  immediately  up  her  ladder,  giving  Skipper  Hains 
the  news.  Hains  was  delighted  and  he  set  out  at  once 
to  see  Huntingdon's  bride  and  to  wish  them  all  happiness. 
Then  at  the  first  opportunity,  he  confided  a  secret  to 
Huntingdon.  He,  too,  was  to  be  married  on  his  arrival 
in  Liverpool;  that  was  his  last  long  coast  voyage;  there 
after,  his  route  would  be  only  as  far  south  as  Sierra 
Leone,  necessitating  only  two  months'  absence  from 
home  instead  of  from  four  to  six. 

'Twas  Huntingdon's  last  day  in  Cape  Lopez.  He 
took  Sadler  into  his  chamber  and  closed  the  door.  Sad 
ler  was  now  in  his  employ,  Sadler's  relief  having  come  on 
the  Nigeria. 

"  Sadler,  old  chap,"  Huntingdon  drawled  in  his  laziest 
manner,  which  drawl  he  had  not  employed  in  many 
a  moon,  "  you  and  I've  neglected  to  talk  salary.  You're 
Chief  Agent,  you  know,  and  your  salary's  —  £2,000 
sterling,  a  year." 

Sadler  couldn't  speak,  he  had  expected  only  the  ordi 
nary  third-term  trader's  salary,  and  he  was  offered  a 
yearly  stipend  earned  only  by  a  few  agents  of  twenty- 
five  or  more  years'  experience. 

"  And,  Sadler,  old  chap,"  Huntingdon  proceeded  in  a 
drawl  more  lazy  than  ever,  "  let  Mbega  continue  on,  and, 
as  I  don't  want  you  to  have  the  drudgery  of  the  factory, 
I'll  send  out  an  extra  clerk  for  Cape  Lopez ;  at  Mboue, 
Ninga  Sika  and  Agouma,  I'm  going  to  make  a  change 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  439 

from  black  government  clerks  which  are  up  there  now  to 
Englishmen  from  home,  so,  as  they  come  out,  I  wish 
you'd  look  after  them,  take  them  into  the  interior,  get 
the  black  clerk  out  quietly,  with  proper  notice  of  course, 
and  show  the  tenderfeet  what  they're  to  do.  Now  I 
want  to  do  something  for  Moore ;  can  you  suggest  any 
thing?  " 

"  Sure,"  answered  the  little  skipper,  himself  again  be 
cause  he  was  relieved  of  expressing  thanks,  not  because 
he  did  not  desire  to  express  his  appreciation  of  Hunt 
ingdon's  generosity  and  the  trust  placed  in  him,  but 
such  thanks  as  he  cared  to  offer  would  bring  tears  with 
them  and  Sadler  wouldn't  let  any  man  see  him  cry. 
"  You  know,  Huntingdon,  that  Moore's  had  the  same  old 
fat  slob  all  these  years ;  he's  tired  of  her  long  ago,  but 
it  was  just  since  your  illness  and  since  Madame  Leon  — 
oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,  Great  White  King,  since  her 
Highness,  Queen  Huntingdon,  came  amongst  us  and 
brought  us  all  back  to  decency  and  health  and  civiliza 
tion,  that  he  confided  to  me  that  he  wanted  to  be  rid  of 
the  wench  and  go  back  to  civilization,  but  the  woman's 
got  such  a  hold  on  him  that  she  swears  she'll  poison 
him  if  she  even  suspicions  he  wants  to  go  home.  You 
savvy  what  devils  these  nigger  women  are." 

"  I  savvy,"  answered  Huntingdon,  solemnly,  and  that 
was  the  only  discussion  of  black  women  held  between  the 
friends  since  the  death  of  the  Ouroungo.  "  Now  send 
Moore  to  me,  please." 

"  Moore,"  began  Huntingdon  without  any  prelimi 
nary,  and  continuing  in  his  lazy  West-end  drawl,  "  how 
long  have  you  been  out  here?  " 

"  Seventeen  years." 


440 

"  Been  home  in  all  that  time?  " 

"  No." 

"  An}'  relatives  and  friends  in  civilization  ?  " 

"  An  old  mother,  and  a  girl  left  behind.      Why  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Sadler  and  I  have  been  palavering,  that's  all. 
Sit  down  at  that  desk  and  write  a  cable  to  Hatton  and 
Cookson  resigning  your  berth  and  ask  for  a  man  to  re 
place  vou  to  be  sent  out  immediately  !  " 

"  Why,  whv,  why  —  '  blustered  the  big  Moore,  but 
not  heeding  the  interruption  Huntingdon  drawled  on : 

"  You  can  figure  out  exactly  how  long  it  will  take 
your  relief  to  get  here;  in  the  meantime  softly,  softly 
close  out  your  affairs  here  ;  I  will  have  cabled  you  in 
cipher  what  boat  your  man's  due  on ;  a  week  before  his 
ship  docks  here,  you're  to  set  out  ostensibly  on  your 
rounds  in  the  Ogowe,  but  you're  to  make  for  Libreville 
where  you'll  find  the  BruxeUsville  with  steam  up  ready 
to  set  out  for  civilization ;  she'll  wait  for  you  and  on  her 
you'll  find  your  first  class  passage  paid  for.  Go  back 
to  civilization,  hunt  up  the  girl  and  get  married." 

"  Gad !  Huntingdon,  I've  been  aching  to  go  back  this 
long  time  —  who  told  you  ?  " 

"  Sadler  —  now,  now,  old  chap,  I  want  no  thanks,  just 
follow  my  instructions  and  that'll  be  thanks  enough. 
And,  Moore,"  Huntingdon  continued  as  Moore  was  writ 
ing  his  resignation,  "  I  want  somebody  to  represent  me 
in  Liverpool;  d'you  want  the  job,  salary,  £2,000  ster 
ling,  same  as  Sadler's  ?  " 

"  Huntingdon,  I  —  I  — "  stammered  the  big  Moore, 
but  Huntingdon  drawled: 

"  With  you  and  little  Sadler  watching  my  interests, 
all  I'll  have  to  do  is  to  count  profits  —  so  you  see,  old 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  441 

chap,  it's  mostly  selfishness  on  my  part,"  then  he  blew 
his  whistle. 

When  Iguela  came,  Huntingdon  sent  for  Mbega, 
Ogula,  the  shootman,  and  Nkombi  Kakhi,  his  brother. 
He  questioned  Mbega  first: 

"  What  thing,  Mbega,  can  Master  Huntingdon  dash 
you  before  he  lef  Cape  Lopez?  " 

"  £4,  sterling,  them  money  be  due  for  my  womans." 

"  You  shall  have  them  one  time,  Mbega.  Master  Sad 
ler  be  proper  master  here  when  I  go  for  home  and  every 
moon  Master  Sadler  be  fit  to  pay  you  extra  money." 

"  How  much?  " 

"What  you  think?" 

"  Five  shillings  —  ?  " 

"  Five  shillings  it  be,  Mbega,  for  faithful  service 
to  Master  Huntingdon." 

"  Azvaka,"  grinned  the  erstwhile  busliboy. 

Ogula,  the  shootman,  came  next. 

"  Ogula,  what  Master  Huntingdon  fit  fer  dash  you?  " 

"  Him  magazine  rifle  and  ammunition,"  answered  the 
shootman,  promptly. 

"  Ogula,  you  savvy  French  law  be  proper  strict  about 
transfer  of  firearms  and  ammunition  to  natives,  but  if 
them  Commandant  never  give  consent,  then  Master 
Huntingdon  get  book  from  France  —  savvy  France, 
Ogula?" 

"  Aye,  I  savvy  him  —  he  be  place  where  big  French 
king  live." 

"  And  Ogula,  besides  your  wages  as  shootman,  for 
the  rest  of  your  life,  Master  Sadler  fit  for  dash  you 
for  Master  Huntingdon  impot  for  pay  them  French  so's 
Commandant  never  put  you  for  jail;  also  all  the  tacco 


442  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

and  cloth  you  and  your  woman  personally  require,  and 
one  bottle  of  rum  every  Saturday  night." 

"  It  be  dash,  mpolo,  mpolo,"  grunted  the  savage. 

"  Now  Nkombi  Kakhi?  " 

"  You  fit,  O  Great  White  King,  dash  me  all  same  like 
my  brudder,  Ogula,  the  shootman?  " 

"  "  I  fit,  proper  fit,  Nkombi  Kakhi.  Master  Sadler  mek 
all  same  dash  palaver  with  you  as  with  your  brudder, 
Ogula,  the  shootman." 

"  Awaka"  grunted  Nkombi  Kakhi,  and,  with  the 
others,  he  disappeared  to  spread  throughout  the  land 
the  tale  of  the  Great  White  King's  generosity. 

Iguela  begged  to  be  permitted  to  return  to  the  Nigeria 
which  permission  Huntingdon  was  glad  to  grant,  ac 
companied  with  money,  cloth,  matches,  tobacco  and  a 
dozen  clay  pipes. 

The  beach  was  crowded  with  natives  when  Huntingdon 
took  his  departure.  Chief  Ragundo  was  also  there. 
The  tragedy  seemed  forgotten.  Once  again  the  white 
man  was  their  Mpolo  Tata  Otangani  —  their  Great 
White  King. 

From  amidships  of  his  canoe  where  he  was  seated 
with  his  bride  and  Sadler  and  Moore,  for  the  last  time 
Huntingdon  addressed  Ouroungoes : 

"  Mbangane,  mbangane.1  Ragundo,  great  chief  of 
the  Ouroungoes  and  all  him  peeples.  When  moon  and 
sun  he  live  and  die  mpolo,  mpolo,  when  dry  and  wet 
season  he  ketch  mbani,  mbani?  Mpolo  Tata  Otangani 
fit  look  Ragundo,  chief  of  the  Ouroungoes,  and  all  his 

1  Good-bye. 

2  In  two  years. 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  443 

peeples  again  and  until  then  he  wishes  you  all  luck, 
mpolo,  mpolo.1  Mbangane,  mbangane." 

"  Aye,  mbangane,  Mpolo  Tata  Otangani,  mbangane." 

"  Aye,"  responded  Huntingdon,  solemnly,  "  mban 
gane." 

In  Sadler's  gig  were  Mbega,  Ogula,  the  shootman,  and 
Nkombi  Kakhi,  his  brother,  and  Chief  Ragundo. 

In  the  Commandant's  gig  with  the  Commandant  were 
the  Douane,  LeBlanc,  Wildman  and  Gottschalk. 

As  Huntingdon  was  about  to  mount  the  Nigeria's 
ladder,  he  motioned  Sadler's  gig  to  come  alongside,  then, 
reaching  over,  Huntingdon  fervently  wrung  the  hands 
of  his  faithful  serviteurs  and  that  of  Chief  Ragundo. 
He  again  assured  them  of  his  continued  protection  and 
aid  through  Master  Sadler. 

Ogula,  the  shootman,  made  answer. 

"  Aye,  dkawa  mpolo,  Mpolo  Tata  Otangani!  " 

"  Aye,"  came  the  acquiescence  of  Nkombi  Kakhi,  his 
brother,  Mbega  and  Chief  Ragundo. 

On  the  Nigeria's  deck,  champagne  was  drunk,  good- 
bys  repeated  again  and  again,  and  mutual  promises  made 
to  write  to  each  other. 

"  Time's  up,  me  lads,"  cried  Skipper  Hains,  to  those 
who  were  to  go  ashore.  "  If  I  never  see  ye  again,  take 
care  o'  ye'rsel's,  and  if  ye  have  all  the  good  luck  I'm 
after  wishin'  ye,  ye'll  be  so  happy  it  won't  be  natural." 

Huntingdon  walked  to  the  ladder  and  bade  a  solemn 
farewell  to  the  Commandant,  the  Douane,  LeBlanc,  the 
Frenchman,  and  Wildman,  the  Swiss. 

To  one  side  and  looking  down  their  noses  stood  Sadler 
and  Moore. 

i  Very  much,  or  great. 


444  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

Huntingdon  grasped  each  by  the  hand  and  pressed 
it  hard  and  long,  but  not  a  word  did  he  or  they  speak 
—  none  was  necessary. 

He  watched  his  friends  descend  the  ladder,  take  their 
places  in  Sadler's  gig,  then,  with  his  hand  about  his 
wife's  waist,  he  waved  a  last  farewell. 

In  silence  Moore  and  Sadler  were  rowed  to  shore.  In 
silence  they  stood  on  the  beach.  With  heads  uncovered 
they  watched  the  Nigeria  disappear  on  the  northern 
horizon  line. 

"  Tata  Otangani,  mpolo,  mpolo,"  murmured  Ogula, 
the  shootman,  to  Nkb'mbi  Kakhi,  his  brother. 

"  Aye,"  quoth  Moore  to  Sadler,  "  one  of  nature's  best. 
May  good  luck  and  good  health  come  to  him  and  his !  " 

But  Sadler  could  not  respond.  In  silence  he  and 
Moore  sought  their  respective  bungalows.  But  the 
morrow  brought  them  together  again,  and,  until  Moore's 
departure  for  civilization  —  in  which  Sadler  played  a 
prominent  part  —  every  night  found  them  in  each  other's 
company.  Moore  was  a  new  man  and  in  Sadler  he  found 
a  staunch,  sympathetic  comrade.  Sadler  genuinely  re 
gretted  Moore's  departure,  but  the  little  skipper  was 
glad  that  happiness  had  eventually  come  to  Moore.  For 
Sadler,  there  was  no  girl  left  behind ;  no  mother  waiting 
for  or  depending  upon  him ;  his  place  was  in  Africa. 
Huntingdon  trusted  him  implicitly  and  he  would  fulfill 
that  trust  as  long  as  life  was  left  him.  Madame  Leon 
he  loved  in  a  sort  of  a  way  but  all  the  love  his  great 
nature  was  capable  of  was  given  to  Huntingdon  that 
day,  oh,  so  long  ago,  when  Huntingdon  first  landed  on 
the  beach  and  Sadler  had  declared  to  Moore  that  he 
was  for  him!  When  he  named  Huntingdon  the  Great 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  445 

White  King  he  was  but  voicing  the  impression  Hunting 
don  had  made  upon  him.  He  was  content  in  serving  and 
in  rendering  a  just  stewardship.  Huntingdon's  busi 
ness  went  on  increasing  and  to-day  he  is  the  biggest  and 
most  successful  independent  white  trader  on  the  entire 
West  Coast  of  Africa. 

When  the  Nigeria  anchored  off  Libreville  on  her  re 
turn  voyage  up  coast,  the  first  news  to  reach  Hunting 
don  was  the  death  of  the  Gabonaise.  The  secret  poison 
of  the  Ouroungoes  had  found  her  out.  She  had  suffered 
the  atonement! 

Huntingdon  was  surprised  and  delighted  when  Wallace 
boarded  the  Nigeria  at  Old  Calabar.  Smallpox  had  fol 
lowed  fever  and  he  was  badly  scarred,  aged  and  infirm. 
He  was  returning  to  civilization  to  pass  the  rest  of  his 
days  with  the  family  he  had  so  ignominiously  outraged. 
He  owed  their  forgiveness  of  him  to  the  persons  he  de 
tested  most:  returned  missionaries,  who  plead  with  his 
family  to  take  him  back,  that  his  days  were  numbered. 
The  old  coaster  showed  his  gratitude  in  a  peculiar 
manner:  he  continued  to  gossip  garrulously  and  mali 
ciously  of  everything  and  everybody  other  than  mission 
aries.  Although  he  never  sought  their  society  and  never 
entered  a  church  at  home,  yet  against  them  not  a  word 
did  he  utter,  and  when  he  died,  the  only  writing  he  left 
was  the  request  that  the  "  sky-pilot  say  a  prayer  over 
his  carcass,  and  the  church  choir  hold  song-palaver  over 
his  grave." 

On  the  Nigeria  he  regaled  Huntingdon  with  the  gossip 
of  the  coast.  He  fully  described  the  deaths  of  little 
Hertford,  Longworthy  and  Cartwright;  he  opined  that 


446  HELL'S  PLAYGROUND 

the  natives  had  secretly  poisoned  Captain  Haywood; 
and  Boynton,  who  died  from  drowning,  had  evidently 
tumbled  into  the  water  when  he  was  intoxicated. 

Kingsford,  the  last  of  those  who  had  voyaged  out 
together  to  Hell's  Playground,  was  doing  well.  Lazy 
and  selfish,  he  took  excellent  care  of  himself;  to  the  na 
tives  he  played  Legree;  they  hated  and  feared  him ; 
to  his  trading  firm  he  was  invaluable  and  was  their 
Chief  Agent. 

"  After  all  is  said  and  done,"  remarked  the  old  coaster 
in  his  familiar  irritating  drawl  and  with  his  familiar 
emphasis,  "  at  home's  the  place  for  a  white  man,  and 
though  he  may  go  a-ramblin'  about  the"  earth  in  his 
youth  and  madness,  yet  when  the  joints  stiffen  up  and 
the  step  lags,  he's  glad  to  crawl  back  to  where  he  be 
longs  and  he's  sorry  he  ever  left  it  —  but  youth  is 
youth  and  ever  will  be  youth  and  will  ever  know  it  all 
until  hard  knocks  and  inhumanity  beat  sense  into  their 
heads  and  teach  them  the  true  palaver  of  life." 

Lady  Bedford  gazed  with  pride  upon  the  son  who 
folded  her  in  his  arms  at  Liverpool.  Cecil  had  always 
been  di»tmgue;  it  was  the  heritage  of  ancestry,  but  now 
he  was  truly  regal.  His  tall  form  had  filled  out;  his 
blond  hair  was  gray ;  his  eyes  were  bright  with  happi 
ness,  and  he  carried  himself  with  the  ease  and  confidence 
that  come  to  a  man  after  he  has  made  a  hard  fight  and 
won  out! 

As  for  the  woman  he  had  married,  one  glance  of 
Lady  Bedford's  critical  eyes  was  enough  to  prognosti 
cate  the  sensation  her  presentation  at  court  would  make. 
She  was  well  worthy  to  be  enrolled  among  the  noble 
women  of  the  families  of  the  Bedfords.  the  Granvilles 


HELL'S  PLAYGROUND  447 

and  the  Huntingdons.  Lady  Bedford  embraced  her 
and  called  her:  "  Daughter"  Nothing  else  could  have 
pleased  Huntingdon  more.  He  knew  he  had  chosen 
wisely  and  well. 

Lord  Bedford  firmly  grasped  his  son's  hands  and 
said,  with  admiration  and  pride  in  his  low  tones : 

"  You've  won  out,  Cecil,  my  son,  you've  been  true  to 
the  traditions  of  our  family,  and  you've  brought  us  a 
worthy  daughter." 

There  were  tears  in  Huntingdon's  eyes,  but  they  were 
tears  of  joy ! 

Huntingdon  and  his  bride  looked  healthier  than  they 
really  were.  The  happiness  within  them  glowed  without, 
sun  and  sea  breezes  had  tanned  their  cheeks  and  colored 
them,  but,  alas,  malaria  was  in  their  arteries,  it  was  to 
torture  them  as  long  as  they  lived,  but  it  did  not  pre 
vent  their  continued  happiness  and  coming  of  children. 

Marjorie,  the  Duchess  of  Southland,  and  Huntingdon 
were  bound  to  meet.  She  was  every  inch  the  grande 
dame.  Time  had  dwelt  gently  with  her  and  whatever 
her  feelings  were,  she  successfully  masked  them. 

The  Duke,  her  husband,  was  notoriously  false  to  her, 
she  had  given  him  three  sons  and  a  daughter,  the  entail 
was  safe,  but,  in  their  private  life  the  Duke  and  Duchess 
were  strangers  to  each  other.  Huntingdon  was  filled 
with  sorrow  at  this  knowledge,  but  to  Clothflde  alone 
did  he  express  that  sorrow  ;  between  him  and  his  wife  were 
perfect  trust  and  confidence. 

Out  of  Hell's  Playground  came  some  good  after  all ! 

THE   END 


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